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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975590">Carrion Crown: The Haunting of Harrowstone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountBuggula/pseuds/CountBuggula'>CountBuggula</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Ghosts, Gothic, Horror, Magic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:28:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>60,011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CountBuggula/pseuds/CountBuggula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Something very foul is afoot around Ravengro.<br/>Roland looked to Karl - perhaps an unlikely, but defacto leader?  Worldly, well-traveled, his sword slung over his shoulder, looking every inch the brave warrior prepared to stride into danger.<br/>His gaze shifted to Shanoa - clearly terrified, but willing to confront her very real fears to carry on the Professor and Michael's legacies.  Boldly taking point and throwing open the literal doors of madness and horror.<br/>He looked to Oorin - an odd gnome who admitted he barely knew the Professor, but earnest and good enough to step into a dangerous situation when innocents were threatened.  Possessed of a keen curiosity that must drive him the way the Professor's did.<br/>Finally, to Arthur - the helmed and mysterious Priest.  In many ways, an enigma - eerily calm in the face of almost certain doom.<br/><i>Brave heroes, all.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/699739">Pathfinder Adventure Path #43: The Haunting of Harrowstone</a> by Michael Kortes.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shanoa was born with an unusual birthmark – a single upright rose in the small of her back.  To the untrained eye it might be mistaken for a simple tattoo, but in the superstitious region of Ustalov it was simultaneously heralded as either blessing or a curse.  Regardless, everyone agreed it was an omen.  She was the center of attention throughout her early years as everyone expected some great event or miracle, but the doting came with ridicule and ostracism to a girl who wanted nothing but to be just like everyone else.  Eventually the novelty faded as Shanoa kept her mark covered and hidden, and after several years of isolation she finally began to make friends with the other local youths in her teenage years.</p><p>Desperate as she was to gain acceptance, she often fell victim to the other children’s jokes and pranks, as she did on a moonless night in early autumn.  The old abandoned house on the edge of town that every child claimed to have visited was the object of the myriad dares directed at Shanoa, who eventually gave in and started walking alone towards the crumbling building as the other children watched on from the distance. Though her heart raced, and she imagined all manner of horrors in the darkness before her, she kept pacing forward mechanically.  After all, hadn’t the other kids all done this and turned out fine?</p><p>It seemed to take an eternity to reach the house, but she forced herself to look straight ahead and keep walking even as her entire body shook with anticipation.  Finally, she placed her hand on the brick wall, turned to look one last time at where her friends were waiting, and stepped inside.  All was darkness.  She felt along a hallway for a few steps and then tripped on rubble, sending her somersaulting down a stairway into the cellar.  She came to a halt as she smacked her head against a hard surface, but even as she was seeing stars she was determined not to cry.</p><p>Fumbling around in the darkness for a way back up, she touched something moist and her heart started to beat faster.  Panicking, she spun around and found herself face to face with a horrifying, glowing apparition mere inches from her face, floating off the ground and letting out a low, soft chuckle.  Letting out a blood-curdling scream as it reached out at her, she turned again, fell on the floor, and curled up on her knees, hiding her face in her arms.</p><p>The phantom closed in on her, and as it reached a single finger to touch her back, Shanoa’s birthmark started to glow brightly, burning the cloth off her dress as it bathed the malice in holy light.  Moments passed in silence, and when the girl finally opened her eyes again and tentatively looked behind her, she was once again alone in the darkness.  Finally stumbling out into the night, she was greeted by the horrified looks of the rest of the children who had started running to her aid when they heard the scream.</p><p>She could not hide her birthmark from their lanterns, and rumor spread quickly around town once again. Fearing ridicule, Shanoa shut herself in her room until her Mother informed her of a visitor by the name of Professor Lorrimor.  He examined the girl’s back and was shocked to find a pattern of scale-like marks around the spot she had been touched.  Fetching a mirror, he showed her what her birthmark had become – it now looked like a rose growing out from between the cobblestones in a blood-soaked street, which he told her was the holy symbol of the goddess Milani.</p><p>There was no church of Milani that she had heard of, but the Professor promised to learn what he could about them and through frequent correspondence she learned about the hope The Everbloom brings to regions such as Galt and the River Kingdoms, and the role she once played in rebellions within the old Chelaxian Empire. She learned of hope and devotion, but she had also learned another lesson: the superstitions were true.  Undead walked the land and were to be feared – but could also be defeated.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Storms filled the sky on the day the letter arrived...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Dear Shanoa, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> It is with great sorrow I write to you this day.  Your friend, my father, Petros Lorrimor has died.  Father spoke of you often and had hoped to see you again before the end.  I am saddened that he did not get that chance. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> As part of father’s final wishes, I am sending you this request.  Father has asked for you to travel to Ravengro and participate in his funeral and sit in on the reading of his last will and testament.  If you would consider it, we would be honored to have you act as one of father’s pallbearers.  Please call upon me at my home when you arrive. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I wish you safe travel to Ravengro and look forward to your arrival. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Regards, </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Kendra Lorrimor </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Professor Lorrimor, the man who meant so much to her, suddenly taken away.  Packing her belongings, Shanoa immediately began the journey to the town of Ravengro in western Ustalav.</p><p>After facing constant rains and unseasonably cool weather on the roads, she finally arrived, barely noticing her surroundings as she quickly made her way to the Lorrimor manor.  The door opened before she had a chance to knock, and a young woman greeted Shanoa and introduced herself as the Professor’s daughter, Kendra.  She led her into a large foyer where several other people were waiting in solemn silence.</p><p>“Thank you all for coming.  My father instructed me to contact you in the event of his passing.  Although I do not know any of you, I know of his great respect for each of you.”</p><p>She paused and clasped her hands together tightly in her lap.  “Your pardon, this has been a stressful time.”</p><p>Kendra took a deep breath and continued, “Your arrival is well-timed, as father’s funeral is scheduled for this evening.  The custom in Ravengro is to bury our loved ones in caskets, placing them into the care of Pharasma's faithful.  I will need help moving the casket from the church to the Restlands, the blessed burial area where we lay our…deceased” She said the last word with a small crack in her voice.</p><p>“As I asked in my letter, would any of you be willing to help bear my father to his place of final rest?”</p><p>A tall, well-built man with his face mysteriously hidden behind a full helm was the first to reply.  “I share your grief.  The Professor was like a father to me.  I would gladly bear him this one last time,” a hint of sadness barely concealed.  He then nodded and moved to Kendra to pay his respects, each step punctuated by the jingle of his armor and weapons.</p><p>Shanoa’s dark dress flowed around her as she stepped up to Kendra and bowed deeply.  “The professor and I corresponded frequently - he had taken an interest in some events in my youth and taught me much,” she paused, suddenly aware this was not the time for lengthy explanations.  “It would be my honor to bear him to his final resting place.”</p><p>
  <span>A young human man wearing a holy symbol around his neck and a suit of splint mail looked down at his hands, clenching his fists.  The man's face fell forward, into his gloved hands, and looked like he was struggling to hold back tears.  After a few moments, the man sniffed and looked up at the woman.  His eyes glistened as he spoke, “I apologize, Miss Lorrimor.  I know I have no right to act in such a way before you, when you are the person he cared about most.  It’s just,” he paused for a moment, unsure how to proceed.  “I’m sorry.  Your father was a great, great man.  He will be missed.”</span>
</p><p>Standing up slowly, as if feeling the weight of the world upon his shoulders, he closed his eyes and wiped them.  “I owe your father everything.  Who I am and what I have become is all thanks to his teaching.  But to know that he included me in his last will and testament,” his voice catching in his throat, he paused a moment before taking a breath and continuing.  “To know that I meant as much to him as he did to me, I'm grateful.  I could never do anything that would pay the Professor back for all he has done for me, but I will do this.”</p><p>A bit off to the side, a large half-elf in well-worn leathers stood uncomfortably.  His hands found his pockets, then came out just as quickly as he crossed his arms before dropping them to his sides.  His fingers twitched as though looking for something to come to grips with.  “Sorry for your loss”, he mumbled self-consciously after the previous man’s display of emotion, his face a bitter mask in comparison to the other's open grief.  “Yer dad was a great man, truly.  I’m just glad I got here in time.  In time to pay my respects, that is.  The rains have made the roads bad.  It would be my honor to help carry him to his rest.  And after, I have some questions, if you don't mind too much.”</p><p>That said, he stepped back a bit awkwardly and resumed his fidgeting.  Having previously not noticed the helmeted man in the corner, he made his way over to him.  “Been a while, Priest.  Were you with him when it happened?” he asked in a hushed voice.</p><p>“Sadly, no. I was in Minkai when news of his death reached me.  Cost me a pretty penny to get here.”</p><p>Another man, of average height and appearance, reedy and plain, stood in the room looking almost as nervous and uncomfortable as the half-elf.  He wore the clothes of a scholar, with a brown leather duster for traveling lined with pouches and pockets for vials and bottles.  Saying nothing, he nonetheless nodded his assent at Kendra.  Behind him, shuffled away in a corner, a brightly dressed gnome looked reluctant to speak.</p><p>Kendra smiled at the group, “Thank you all.  Please, the priests at the Temple await us.  I would not delay any longer.”</p><p>She led the party to the Temple of Pharasma, an ornate building on the western road.  An elegant stained-glass window took up most of the southern wall, a surprising splash of color and luxury in this otherwise backwater town.  Inside the Temple, a closed casket waited upon a table flanked by several young acolytes.</p><p>Each of the group took a place on the casket, two on each side and one behind.  Kendra spoke solemnly, “As his closest relative, I am to lead you to The Restlands.  As is our custom, please refrain from speaking until we arrive.”</p><p>Walking to The Restlands was relatively easy despite the weight of the casket, and even the weather seemed to cooperate for once as the rain became little more than cool mist.  As they entered the graveyard, Shanoa noted the care and attention given to the area.  The acolytes of Pharasma obviously took pride in discharging their duties in Ravengro.</p><p>As Kendra turned onto a pebble path, a small group of people standing nearby took notice.  Almost as one, they moved to block her passage, with an older man declaring, “That’s far enough!  We don’t want no necromancer buried with our kin.  Take him outside of town if you want, but he ain’t going in this ground!”</p><p>Kendra’s demeanor swiftly turned from sadness to anger, “What do you mean ‘necromancer’?” she cried out in denial.  “The Temple has already given their approval, why do you seek to stop us?”</p><p>The older man replied, “You don’t get it, woman.  We don’t care what the Temple says, he’s not welcome here! I suggest you and your friends just move along.” He straightened up as he gestured at the men behind him, “Me and the boys are standing up for the rest of our town, and we’ll do what needs doing!” he said, bringing his right fist into the palm of his left hand with a meaty smack.</p><p>Completely baffled by this change of events, Shanoa blurted out, “What’s the meaning of this?  Have you no respect for the dead?  Professor Lorrimor was a great man and deserves a proper burial just as well as anyone else in this graveyard.  Please step aside that we may bury this man in peace.”</p><p>The half-elf added, “He was a great man, and lived his life in service to others.  You shouldn't speak ill of the dead.”  Keeping a firm grip on the casket with his left hand, the fingers on his right twitched.</p><p>The scholar too scowled at the baseless accusations.  “The Professor was a scholar and a gentleman!  He was no 'necromancer' as this rabble suggests!  How dare you speak ill of the dead!  Bullies.” His anger flared, and the alchemist had a sudden urge to give these men a sound thrashing!  He flinched when he realized what was happening, and the rush of anger subsided as quickly as it rose.  He suddenly realized one hand was tightly holding a vial of his experimental serum in his pocket.  Releasing the vial, he quickly replaced his hand upon the casket to better bear its weight, casting a glance around to see if anyone noticed.  Clearing his throat, he continued more nervously.  “Please, gentlemen, t-there's no need to do anything rash.”</p><p>Ill-suited to help carry the casket, the gnome had simply walked beside it in silence, an upraised hand resting on a handle.  Startled by the other man’s outburst, he saw an opportunity to chastise these people for their lack of piety.   He stepped forward, shaking his fist at the crowd, intending to give them a tongue lashing.  Instead he doubled over laughing, “A necromancer?! How completely absurd!  Where did you simpletons get such a preposterous notion?” Suddenly remembering the solemnity of the occasion, he backed down muttering a few choice words under his breath, as a hint of red creeped into his cheeks.</p><p>One of the other pallbearers shot a look at the gnome, then placed one hand on the hilt of his blade and looked up at the interloper with a fierce gaze.  “I'm going to say this once.  Don’t you dare speak ill of him like that again.  If you do, I won't show you any mercy.”  His entire face was an expression of rage.</p><p>Shanoa quickly interjected, “Sir, calm down.  We all need to keep our heads about us.  This is an obvious misunderstanding, and The Good Professor would not be pleased with bloodshed or fighting at his funeral.  If anything, maybe someone should get the sheriff to settle things down.”</p><p>Several of the men behind the mob leader began looking at one another with concerned expressions.  Soft muttering broke out and one man in the back clearly questioned whether or not Lorrimor really was a necromancer. The original speaker clenched his fists with a grim expression on his face.  He spun quickly, forgetting the pallbearers for the moment, “Don’t listen to them, they aren't even from around here.  They’re outsiders!  They don't know anything about Ravengro!”</p><p>From behind, a strong elderly voice replied, “That’s right, and you’re presenting a wonderful image of the folks around here, Gibs.”  A short man walked up the path to stand before the farmer.  He was easily the oldest human they had seen in town, and he wore the formal robes of a Pharasman priest.</p><p>“I knew Professor Lorrimor for 20 years, and he was no necromancer.  He is going to be buried in this land, blessed by my hand, and watched over by my Temple!”  As he spoke, the group behind Gibs began to shrink back, somewhat resembling children scolded by a parent.  “Now, I think it's best if you all went home.  Go on, all of you.”</p><p>While several of the men meekly turned to leave, Gibs looked at the priest and opened his mouth to retort.  Before he could speak, several men grabbed his arms.  Pulling him back, they turned him around and led him away, still scowling and muttering to his companions angrily.</p><p>The old priest sighed and turned to Kendra, “My deepest apologies, my girl.”</p><p>She closed her eyes and sighed.  Unshed tears welled in her eyes as she placed a hand on the priest’s arm, “It’s not your fault, Father.  I just don't know what's happened to the townspeople lately, so cruel.”  Standing tall, she quickly wiped her eyes, “Please, let us see this finished.  Will you walk with me, Father Grimburrow?”</p><p>Several men were gathered at the gravesite, curiosity evident as they watched the group approach.  The old priest directed them to lower the casket into the open grave, and as they finished, he spoke for several minutes about Pharasma and her obligations to the deceased, ending his service with a prayer for Lorrimor’s soul.</p><p>Kendra approached the grave and dropped a single flower into the hole to land on the casket.  Turning back to the group, she asked, “If any of you would care to speak a few words about my father, now is the time.”</p><p>The half-elf dropped to one knee at the open grave and scooped up a handful of dirt.  “He was a better man than any I've ever met.  This world is poorer for the loss of him.  Guide him to his rest.”  He scattered the earth onto the casket and rose to his feet before stepping aside.</p><p>The armored man next stepped up to the grave, knelt before it, and closed his eyes, saying a short, silent prayer.  Rising and opening his eyes, he once again fought back the urge to cry.  A single tear leaked down his cheek as he spoke.  “This man came to me.  He found me, a young foolish boy, in a hospital bed on the edge of death.  He sat there and spoke to me for hours.  I always wondered why he did that, why he came to me.  I couldn’t help his research, I couldn’t teach him anything he didn't already know.  He knew that within the first ten minutes of speaking to me.  Did he leave?  No. He stayed and told me to stick to my convictions.  He taught me about life and death, how to fight my enemies, how to protect my friends.  And now, as I stand before his casket, I believe I finally understand why he stayed that day.  It’s because, at his core, Professor Lorrimor was the most selfless and considerate person possible.  He was a father, a teacher, a scholar, and a friend - a friend to many.  But above all, he was kind.  And for that kindness, I say, ‘thank you, Professor.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.’”</p><p>After the warrior said his words, the scholarly man stepped forward.  “Professor Petros Lorrimor was more a father to me than my actual father.  He supported me, listened to me, and encouraged me.  He,” his voice broke.  He sniffed, straightened up, and traced the spiral of Pharasma over his heart.  “He was the best of us.  May the Lady of Graves judge you fairly, Professor.”</p><p>Shanoa reached back and pulled her long hair around in front of her, the low-cut dress revealing her bare back as she walked forward to face the group.  For the first time the rest of the group saw what was hidden - what appeared to be a tattoo, an intricate design of a rose growing out of a cobbled street filled the small of her back.  She turned and began to speak, “I was not a popular child growing up - it could be said that I didn’t have many friends.  I thought that by hiding who I was and doing what everyone else did would help me fit in, but in the end, it brought me great pain.</p><p>“Lorrimor changed all that for me.  He taught me the beauty and importance of who I really am.  He helped me gain confidence that I never believed I could attain.  It is because of the Professor I am who I am today - I owe everything to him.” She paused for a moment to regain her composure before continuing.  “I’m pleased to see that he touched many more lives in the same way and hope that he feels our love for him in the realms beyond.”  Nodding at Kendra, she stepped back down among the small crowd.</p><p>The helmed priest approached and took in the scene before reciting, “All men must die, but first they live.  The Professor did not allow fear to stand in the way of his quest for the truth.  On many adventures, I have accompanied him and came to admire the man.  Sadly, I was not with him on his last adventure, which ended in his death.  But a man only truly dies when there is no one anymore to remember him and his works.  You, who are with me here today, are the best proof that the Professor and his works will continue to be remembered and live on in our memories.  And though we are destined for death, it is in how we live that we shall be remembered.  Farewell, old friend.  Rest assured that you shall be remembered well.”</p><p>Finally, the gnome stepped up and simply said, “I met the man only once.  It was all he needed to save my life.”</p><p>After the last speaker, soft sobs floated softly from the various attendees.  Their words had struck an emotional chord, and Kendra stood up and moved to the grave.  Facing the crowd, she said “Thank you, one and all, for your kind and heartfelt words.  Father?”</p><p>Father Grimburrow shuffled up to stand beside her.  Taking her hand in his, he raised his other to the sky, “Now we commend into your care, Petros Lorrimor, devoted teacher, scholar, friend, and father.  Please watch over his soul as he stands before you for judgement.”</p><p>The acolytes attending the ceremony punctuated the end of Father Grimburrow’s prayer with a low monastic chant, starting as a dirge, but ending with an uplifting chorus that seemed to soothe the raw emotions throughout the crowd.</p><p>Kendra leaned over and hugged the priest, “Thank you.”  Moving toward the pallbearers, she raised an arm, “Let’s get back to the house.  This weather won’t stay tolerable for long, and I don’t know about any of you, but I could use a drink.” Turning toward an older man in the audience, she inquired, “Vashian, are you still coming over tonight for the reading?”</p><p>The man she spoke to was old, with close-trimmed hair and a neat beard.  His stance and manner indicated years of military training that had yet to disappear.  He nodded slowly, and in a gravelly voice, “Yes, dear, I’ve got to go home to retrieve it, but I’ll be along shortly.” Kendra clasped her hands together and bowed her head in appreciation.</p><p>When the group arrived at her house, Kendra insisted on them all staying in her home, at least for one evening as her guests.  Without waiting for an argument, she began assigning rooms.  Though the house was immaculately clean, bookshelves covered almost every wall – the Lorrimor manor had more documents, scrolls, and books than many libraries.  Even the bedrooms had shelves and stacks of books in nearly every available space.</p><p>After making sure everyone had a room, she met back in the study where everyone spoke with her upon arrival.  She provided a drink and proposed a toast to the memory of her father.  Kendra began by saying that she did not have any idea what the will contained since her father was constantly updating and changing it based on his latest research and findings.</p><p>Before any real conversation could start, a knock at the front door announced the arrival of Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman of Ravengro, and the executor of Lorrimor’s will.  Kendra hurried to the door, then led him into the study.  Without preamble, he pulled a large scroll case from his jacket.  Holding it up for everyone to see, he purposefully turned it so that the unbroken wax seal was clearly evident.  He pulled a small knife from his belt and deftly slid it under the seal, opening the scroll.  Placing the knife back in his belt, he turned the scroll sideways and began to unfurl it.  As the scroll opened, a small key dropped out and landed with an audible ‘clink’ on a wooden table.  Vashian glanced at the key, then back to the scroll.  He began reading:</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this parchment my last will and testament.  Let it be known that, with the exception of the specific details below, I leave my home and personal belongings entirely to my daughter Kendra. Use them or sell them as you see fit, my child. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Yet beyond the bequeathing of my personal effects, this document must serve other needs.  I have arranged for the reading of this document to be delayed until all principals can be in attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion.  I have two final favors to ask. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of what it is I have to ask.  As some of you know, I have devoted many of my studies to all manner of evil, that I might know the enemy and inform those better positioned to stand against it.  For knowledge of one’s enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire a significant collection of valuable but dangerous tomes, any one of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward legal situation.  While the majority of these tomes remain safe under lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have borrowed remain in a trunk in my Ravengro home.  While invaluable for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still, the danger of possessing these tomes herself.  As such, I am entrusting my chest of tomes to you, posthumously.  I ask that you please deliver the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is the matter of another favor—please delay your journey one month and spend that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure that my daughter is safe and sound.  She has no one to count on now that I am gone, and if you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal gratitude.  From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum of one hundred platinum coins.  For safekeeping, I have left these funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in Lepidstadt—she has been instructed to issue this payment upon the safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month after the date of the reading of this will. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I, Petros Lorrimor, hereby sign this will in Ravengro on this first day of Erastus, in the year 4711. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>The half-elf’s face was a still mask as the will was read, although his lips tightened a bit when the trip to Lepidstadt was mentioned.</p><p>Vashian rerolled the scroll and placed it on the table beside the key.  “Mrs. Lorrimor, I have fulfilled my duties as executor, if there is any further business regarding your father’s will, please call upon me at your convenience.  If you will excuse me, I am sure you have much to discuss.  I will see myself out.”</p><p>Kendra stood and moved to the door of the study.  Pausing, her voice cracked with emotion, “I will go retrieve the chest for you, please wait here.”</p><p>The scholarly man, slowly enjoying a glass of brandy since the toast, seemed to be in somewhat better spirits upon the reading of the will, at which his expression had turned to one of surprise.  He watched Lorrimor’s daughter leave, shaking his head.  “I would have stayed to assist your daughter without the promise of money, old friend.  You needed only ask.”  He put a hand to his chin and continued under his breath.  “Still, a hundred platinum coins!  That would fund my research for years to come!  Perhaps it was his wish to ensure I had the funds to continue my work unhindered?  Yes, that must be it.”He looked around the room at the others.  He still didn’t really know too much of them.  Perhaps the condition was to ensure they remained as well?“‘Ensure my daughter is safe and sound’, he had written.  Such an odd turn of phrase.”  The thought of the Professor suffering a fatal accident sprang to mind suddenly, and he felt goosebumps.  Maybe there was some danger involved in this, as well.</p><p>Kendra returned a few minutes later with a small wooden chest reinforced with steel bands along the edges.  Setting it down on the floor in front of the table where the scroll and key rest, she continued, “I do not yet know what I plan to do with the house and belongings my father left me, but I will have a decision well before a month passes.</p><p>“Unless there are any other pressing issues, I would retire for the evening.  If acceptable, I would like to meet with you here tomorrow morning to answer any questions you may have, as well as provide any information you desire.  And thank you again for coming, it would have meant much to my father to know that the only people he cared about other than his family repaid that love by being here tonight.  Good evening.” Kendra turned away from the door and headed for her room.</p><p>The impetuous young warrior  had been stunned by the request from the late professor but did not stay that way for long. “Miss Kendra!” he called after her, as she started to leave.  “I just want you to know, I accept the tasks the Professor stated in his will.  I don’t need to think about it, I won't hesitate.  I am here, and I will assist you however I can, so please, ask anything you wish of me.”</p><p>Before the professor’s daughter could leave the room, the half-elf spoke up as well.  “Mrs. Lorrimor, please know that I will faithfully keep to your father's last request.  If I can be of service to you in any way, you have only to ask.”</p><p>“Yes, me as well, Miss Lorrimor,” the scholar hastily added.  “I’ll send a missive to the University in the morning telling them I’ll be taking an extended leave.  I, too, shall stay as long as you need.”  He watched her head up the stairs to bed.  “I wish I could provide more comfort to her.”  He sighed.  “I was deeply affected by the Professor's sudden death.  One can only imagine how much harder it must be for her.”</p><p>Sipping her wine, Shanoa gazed absentmindedly around the house.  <em> How did I come to be here with these people?  Such a strange turn of events my life has become. </em> Bowing slightly at Kendra's departure, she turned more intently to the contents of the chest. </p><p>The small key on the table opened the locked chest with a solid click.  Inside the chest were several old tomes and a worn journal.  Three of the tomes appeared to be scientific texts and were tied together with a note indicating they should be delivered to Montagnie Crowl, a professor at Lepidstadt University.  The other tome was a rich purple color with a brass scarab on the cover containing an eye set into the center of its back.  An ornate lock prevented the book from opening, though the edges of the pages appeared to be golden in color.  This book had a note asking that it be returned to Embreth Daramid, a judge in Lepidstadt.  Strangely, the note asked the delivery to be handled discreetly, and included Embreth’s home address.</p><p>“Could this be why those townspeople suspected him of necromancy?”  She glanced briefly at the books before taking the journal, which appeared to be the personal diary of Petros Lorrimor.  A note was tied to the outside with the words ‘Read Me Now!’ written in the Professor’s handwriting.  The journal appeared to cover the past fifteen years of Lorrimor’s research into evil beings and organizations.  Most of the entries were mundane in nature, simply reporting results from examining documents on various arcane and mathematical theories.  Flipping through it, she saw several sections circled with red ink.  She began to read the circled sections out loud to the rest of the group.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Ten Years Ago: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers.  I see that now.  Undeath is their fountain of youth.  Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might.  Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Two Months Ago: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> It is as I had feared.  The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> One Month Ago: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone.  In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Twenty Days Ago: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> It is confirmed.  The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone.  But who, specifically, is the Way after?  I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire.  Everyone.  The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Eighteen Days Ago: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone.  I am lucky to have returned at all.  The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared.  Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro.  I know that the church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path.  I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below.  If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>A chill ran up her spine at his mention of the ghosts, and a large lump formed in her throat causing her to pause for several long seconds before continuing.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Seventeen Days Ago: </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Tomorrow evening I return to the prison.  It is imperative the Way does not finish.  My caution has already cost me too much time.  I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk.  I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Upon completion, she set the journal down.  “Well, it looks like I’ll be spending some time in Ravengro.  We must find out how the Professor died.  Everyone's been strangely silent on the subject until now.”</p><p>The scholar nodded.  “Indeed, even Miss Lorrimor has offered up few of the details, though under the circumstances, that's understandable.  It seems his death may have been related to his investigation into ‘Harrowstone’ and this ‘Whispering Way.’”</p><p>The younger man frowned.  “The Whispering Way?  These men, they’re responsible for all the undead that have been around recently.  And yet, the Professor seems to think that there is more to them than even that.  But what could it be?  What does he mean, 'Undeath is their fountain of youth'?  Surely the entire cabal does not plan to resort to lichdom, do they?”</p><p>The half-elf responded, “I do not know what the Whispering Way intends, but if they are involved in the Professor’s death, we must tread carefully.  Better to learn what they intend, and put a stop to it, than to go haring off unprepared.  The patient hunter shall have his reward.”</p><p>He turned to the others.  “I know that we do not know each other well, but it seems that the Professor did.  I, for one, have always trusted his judgment and will continue to do so now.  I propose that we work together on his behalf.  A pack can take down larger prey than a lone wolf, after all.  I think that we should open the locked book if we have the means and know the contents well before we begin.  Although based upon what we have heard tonight, my instinct is to seek out the Pharasman priest who interred Lorrimor and find whatever protection against spirits there is to be had in this false crypt within the Restlands before we journey to Harrowstone.  Of course, if there is a better way, I am open to suggestions.”</p><p>The scholar’s eyes landed on the mystery purple book.  He paused and glanced at Shanoa, “May I?”  He retrieved it from the box and looked at the symbols on it.  “Are these Osiriani symbols?” He ran a hand over the strange lock.  “An odd mechanism.  My research has left me with some experience with mechanical devices.  It's possible I may be able to open this, assuming it’s the kind of book that we should indeed open.”  He glanced around to see if anyone has any encouragement or objection.</p><p>The half-elf spoke up, “Mind’f I look at the lock first?  It could be bushwacked.”</p><p>The other was lost in thought and didn’t seem to hear him.  “I’m sure I’ve heard the name ‘Whispering Way’ before, but maybe only in passing?  Oh well.”  He began pointing out the books to anyone who cared to pay attention.  It was clear from his expression, and the confidence in his voice, that he was very much in his element when it came to scholarly pursuits.</p><p>“This first book, with the black cover is <em> On Verified Madness. </em> It’s quite an old volume by the looks of it.  The subject is... well, those horrors from beyond, mixed in with starry wisdom and occult lore dealing with the Far Realm and the Dark Tapestry.  I’ve never read it but know it by reputation.  It’s... not a book to be read if you want to continue sleeping easily.”</p><p>He pointed to the next book, the one with the brown and red cover.  “That's an abridged breakdown of <em> Serving Your Hunger. </em> The original text is the unholy book of Urgathoa.  I'm not as familiar with the more religious aspects, but fundamentally, Urgathoa is a goddess of undeath.”</p><p>He moved onto the ivory text.  “This, too, is a scholarly exploration of an unholy text.  In this case, <em> The Umbral Leaves </em>, which is the scripture of Zon-Kuthon.  I must stress that neither of these books would be useful as primary sources for evil.  However, I understand why the Professor would keep them hidden.”</p><p>He tapped his chin.  “A strange mix of works.  What could he have needed all three for?”  His gaze hovered back to the purple tome and he snapped his fingers suddenly.</p><p>“Of course!  I remember now where I’ve seen this symbology before!  Years ago, I was assisting the Professor in some research, and I found some reference to a secret society called the Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye.  It was rumored they used arcane and political means to protect civilization from evils and tyrants, with an especial interest in combating the undead.”</p><p>He glanced around before continuing.  “The Professor told me he believed they were a myth, but this book may hold some clues as to the truth of the existence of the organization and...”  He stops abruptly and his eyes widen.  “Could Professor Petros Lorrimor have been a member of the Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye?”</p><p>The gnome’s eyes glittered at hearing the names of the books mentioned.  “Ah, it can be difficult to find quality academic works on the ‘darker’ deities.  Too many are written by people already under the sway of that deity’s beliefs or condemnations of such.  Neither has much intellectual value.  If time permits, I’d like to take a closer look at those.”</p><p>The half-elf took a measured drink of the mulled wine provided after examining the locked tome and then handed it back.  “I don't see nothin' out of the ordinary, poisoned needles or the like; although if there is some spell on it, I wouldn't know anything about that.  Let’s look inside an' call it a night.” </p><p>The academic snapped out of his reverie.  “Uh, yes of course.” He took back the book and sat down to take a closer look at the mechanism.  After several long minutes of fiddling and examination, he let out a defeated sigh.</p><p>“I'm afraid this is quite a well-crafted lock.  I’m sorry, but it's simply far beyond my level of ability.  It’s clearly intended to keep out the unwanted and looks like it may need a special key.  I'm concerned I may damage the mechanism, or the book, if I try and force it - and we do have to return it to one of the Professor's associates back in Lepidstadt.”  He looked apologetically around.  Not a great first impression.  He hoped they didn’t think he was a braggart for talking up his skill with devices.</p><p>“Presumably,” the gnome began after some time, “the Professor knew the body he was looking for or it is doubtful he would have risked the trip.  We need that information as well.  If it isn’t here, then we’ll have to enquire about it at the temple as well.</p><p>“If this ‘Whispering Way’ group is just looking for one specific person we can nip this in the bud by finding the corpse first and either render it unraiseable by any known necromancy or remove it to the temple.  Whomever it is they are attempting to find has either knowledge, power, or both that they need.  A seventeen-day head start is unfortunate but perhaps the Professor's investigations will have made them more cautious.”</p><p>He paused for a moment with his brow furrowed.  “I could've sworn there was something else...Oh, yes!  While I found nothing magical in my perusals, I did note that the Professor did organize his works in a rough categorical system.  Much of it, unsurprisingly, deals with secret cults and whatnot.  I’ll see if I can find anything worthwhile.”  He turned to survey the vast number of books and scrolls that line the walls.  “Now, it’s possible there could be other useful information here; even if only peripherally...” He whistled merrily as he looked over the rows of books.</p><p>Shanoa looked concerned and tired.  “It looks like we have much to learn about what was going on here, as well as what the Professor was really up to - but I'm afraid that will have to wait until morning.  I’d still like to ask Kendra many questions, which I hope will make much of this clearer.”  She paused momentarily, as if unsure of how to proceed, looking around at her companions a bit uncomfortably.  “If you don’t mind, I believe further introductions are in order.  I don’t know any of you, and if we are to work together for the next month, I’d like to remedy that.</p><p>“As for myself, I grew up a girl of modest means of Courtaud in Lozeri, some 75 miles almost due north from here.  I already mentioned my younger childhood was not a pleasant one, though I was never mistreated or abused as such - I don’t want to sound as if I’ve had worse troubles than others.  I met the Professor when he took interest in an unfortunate encounter I had as a teenager with some sort of phantom.  I’ve been working odd jobs since I came of age and even traveled as far as Galt on one occasion to meet an acquaintance of the late Professor.  It really is amazing what a traveled man he was - how did he ever have time for family when he kept himself so busy?”</p><p>The half-elf was the first to respond.  “Alright Shanoa.  Name’s Karl.  I grew up in the hill country in the west of Vieland, two days further north of Courtaud.  Hunter, tracker and guide by trade and met the Professor in the Shudderwood, northwest of here less than half a year ago.  I did a good turn fer him there, and he did more than the same fer me.  I’ve not seen him since, but he’s always been close to my heart.”</p><p>The scholar nodded and stifled a yawn, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he was.  “Indeed, it is getting later in the evening, and Miss Lorrimor may be able to help clear up some more details after a good night's sleep.  It’s been an exhausting day for all of us, I should think.</p><p>“I was a student of Professor Lorrimor when he was still lecturing at the University of Lepidstadt, and we’ve kept up a regular correspondence ever since.  I always considered myself something of a protégé of his.  I am Professor Roland Savardson, scholar and academic.  I would call myself an expert in matters alchemical, potions, unguents, extracts, that sort of thing.  That specialty includes a working knowledge of medicine, anatomy, and herbalism.  Alongside this is a study of arcane matters - with a special interest in ancient occult history.  Though I admit I’ve very little magical aptitude of my own, I consider myself quite well-versed in arcane theory.”</p><p>Roland cleared his throat and suddenly looked a little sheepish.  “Sorry, that was probably terribly boring.  Most people don’t exactly find interest in the same things I do.  And I’m afraid I haven’t led a very exciting life outside of the libraries and laboratories of the university.”</p><p>The helmed priest was the next to speak up.  “Nice to meet everyone.  You may all call me ‘Arthur’,” He looked at Karl to prevent him from laughing at some shared joke or secret.  “Was on the Professor’s payroll.”</p><p>The young warrior began to speak, “I am Michael Thronedweller, paladin of Iomedae.  When I was a child, I was hospitalized by a run-in with an animate skeleton, and he came to investigate why a 13-year-old lad with no extraordinary powers had survived such an attack.  He agreed to teach me how to better defend myself against these creatures and has corresponded with me ever since.  Though oddly enough, he never mentioned having a daughter.”  Michael added the last part as an afterthought, frowning to himself.</p><p>Turning to Shanoa, Michael raised an eyebrow.  “Strange.  Your story and mine sound remarkably similar.  I wonder why he never mentioned you in our correspondence.”</p><p>Karl turned to the others, “Roland, Priest, Michael, Ms. Shanoa, and Oorin is it?”</p><p>Absently, the gnome said, “My name is actually Oorincunathysin but no one ever pronounces it correctly so just Oorin is fine.” He then lapsed into a rather lengthy silence as he digested everything he heard.</p><p>“Oorin...Koona Bison?” Michael tried hopefully but sighed as he heard himself cough it out wrong.  “Well, either way, it's a pleasure to meet all of you.  As far as I’m concerned, anyone who was a friend of the Professor’s is a friend of mine.  He was a good man and had a good judge of character.”</p><p>Shanoa gave a short but courteous smile to Michael, still unsure how she felt about the young man.  Though an eclectic group, it seemed natural that each one could have become one of the Professor’s most trusted friends.  She let out a deep sigh.  “Well, it sounds like we'll have a busy day tomorrow.  I suggest we turn in and get an early start.”  She picked up her pack and set off to find her room.</p><p>Roland replaced the purple tome in the chest and gave a polite nod to anyone who intended to stay up.  “I’ll be heading off to bed, too.”  He gathered up his coat, backpack, and cane, and followed Shanoa upstairs to find his room.</p><p>He briefly considered setting out his alchemical equipment but found he was too tired to be bothered with it.  “Tomorrow morning, I can ask if the Professor had a lab set up in the house, and perhaps make use of that.  He may even have some unfinished experiments I can take care of.”  Roland lay back on the bed and stared at the roof for a while, considering what an unusual turn his life had suddenly taken.  “What have you gotten me into, Professor?”</p><p>He nodded off a half-hour later.</p><p>Karl stayed awake late into the night, reminiscing over old times, and trying to piece together what the next day would bring.  What did Kendra know of her father’s activities?  Perhaps he confided in her.  How did the professor die?  Blade, spell, or something worse?  Does anyone know anything about this 'Whispering Way'?  If the Priest is around, things are likely to get ugly - wherever he goes there is conflict.  Does he bring it with him, or does it follow him where he goes?  Either way, he was sure the morning would bring new challenges and troubles.</p><p>He eventually found his room and began his nightly devotions.  Rolling out his armor, he inspected for rust and weak points.  When he was satisfied with its condition, he moved onto his weapons, taking care to sharpen his greatsword, javelins and daggers before finally falling into a fitful sleep.</p><p>In his own room, Michael slowly unhooked his armor from his body, thinking about everything he had seen today.  Discovering the secrets of the intentions of the Whispering Way, meeting all these people, and attending the funeral.  He looked up at the ceiling and smiled to himself.  So many people came to the Professor’s funeral.  The Professor knew so many different and interesting people.  He was sure he was happy to have the chance to spread his knowledge among such a diverse and caring crowd and seeing how everyone who knew him was so passionate about who he was and how he had helped them.  Michael's smile widened as he nodded firmly.  The Professor must have been happy, to the very end.That thought comforted Michael, and he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.</p><p>Shanoa began unpacking her few belongings before resting for a moment on the bed, reviewing and considering all that had happened today.  <em> Things are likely worse than any of us have expected.  I’d best be prepared.  </em>From her pack, she pulls out two empty flasks, setting them on the floor and kneeling before them.  In a quiet ritual, she called on the goddess Milani to fill and bless the water as a ward against the undead they would likely be facing much sooner than she would like.  Setting the full flasks next to her bed, she laid down and settled into an uneasy slumber.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shanoa rose early the next morning to find Kendra dressed in a solid black dress.  Common, she said, for people in this region after the burial of a loved one.  She offered to help in the kitchen with breakfast, and mostly worked in silence, unsure how to approach the many subjects she wanted to talk about.  When the group was all together, she finally broached the subject: “I know it must be difficult for you so soon after his death, but could you tell us what you know about how your father died?”</p><p>Kendra took a deep breath but spoke as if reciting from memory.  “I reported my father missing after he failed to return home on Moonday, Arodus 17th.  I met Sheriff Caeler early on the 18th.  Father would frequently leave the house on research, but he always returned home before nightfall.  The only exceptions were when he planned a trip to visit a colleague, but he always told me ahead of time when he would be away overnight.  Given his advancing age, I was concerned that he might have hurt himself and been unable to return home.”</p><p>She paused briefly, seeming to gather her courage before continuing.  “A patrol of the area surrounding Harrowstone discovered my father’s body on Wealday, the 19th.  A large piece of masonry apparently came loose from the building and struck him in the face, crushing his skull.  The sheriff theorized that he looked up right before the masonry struck him.  Father Grimburrow indicated that he likely died instantly.  He was kept in the Temple of Pharasma under <em> gentle repose </em> spells until his burial.</p><p>“I don’t know much about my father’s work, but Alendru Ghoroven, the teacher in town, may know something.  He owns a small school and scriptorium in town called The Unfurling Scroll.”  Kendra looked a little defeated after the effort of speaking.</p><p>Roland sat quietly, munching some toast, as Kendra went over the events surrounding the Professor's death.  “Did the Professor have a lab set up in the house?  Maybe I could make use of it.”</p><p>Kendra shook her head.  “No, all of his recent research in his house was purely scholarly, no experiments.  But he was friends with Jominda Fallenbridge, a local who owns Jominda’s Apothecary.  If Father needed anything dealing with alchemy, I’m sure that he would have spoken to Jominda about it.”</p><p>He looked a little disappointed at the prospect of having to go to town for any alchemical needs.  “Would you be opposed to me setting up a small lab somewhere in the house?  Perhaps a cellar or attic, where it would be out of the way?”</p><p>“I wouldn't mind if you set up a small lab, provided you guarantee that there won't be any strange odors or gases permeating the house.”</p><p>Roland thanked her, then turned to the others.  “I do have some business in Ravengro today, as I must see to getting a letter to the University to inform them of my leave.  As we're going to be staying as guests of Miss Lorrimor for the next month, it may be a good idea to get a lay of the town.  We may also be able to speak with the sheriff and this Alenrdu fellow.  Perhaps even get an idea where the crypt the Professor spoke of is located, or inquire after it at the temple?”  He seemed troubled by something that he isn't sharing - at least not within earshot of Kendra.  When Karl leaned over and asked what’s wrong, he just said under his breath, “Something about the Professor's death troubles me.  I'll explain later.”</p><p>The gnome, Oorin, apparently was up all night researching, not even noticing the passage of time until the sun began to rise.  “I would like to visit the location where the accident took place.  I know something of masonry and want to see which building the stone fell from.”  <em> It would be difficult, though not impossible, to "aim" a piece of masonry on purpose to crush someone's face.  I wonder... </em></p><p>Karl nodded in approval.  “Will the rest of you join me in a visit to Alendru Ghoroven's, then to the scene of the professor's demise and finally the temple of Pharasma?  We have a busy day ahead of us; we should not delay.”  He grabbed the journal as well as his own belongings and made for the door.  “Kendra, I thank you for your hospitality.  If time permits, I will try to bring in some fresh game to add to the table.”</p><p>Kendra thanked him for his generosity but assured him not to worry if he doesn't have much luck.  “Game has not been very plentiful in the surrounding area for a few weeks, so it may be more challenging to find something than you're used to in typical wildlands.”</p><p>Michael nodded eagerly, now refreshed and ready to learn about his beloved master's death. “I am with you, Karl.  Let us venture to Alendru's and see what information he may grace us with.  Miss Kendra, I hope you don't mind?  If you require some assistance, comfort, or company today, please tell us, and we will elect one or more of us to stay behind with you.  Unless you have a preference, of course.”</p><p>“I too would like to see the scene of where he died for myself, but I think we should visit the temple and see about that equipment first,” Shanoa adds.</p><p>As plans for the rest of the day become the topic of discussion, a loud knocking at the front door interrupted the conversation.  “Ms. Lorrimor, it's Vrodish and Riff, are you in there?” a male voice called from outside.</p><p>Kendra looked at the group, “They're deputies here in town, excuse me.”  She opened the front door and allowed a pair of men inside.  Both are wearing padded armor covered by a royal blue tunic bearing the Ravengro crest.</p><p>One of the men spoke, “Your pardon, ma'am, but the Sheriff sent us over here to fetch you and your guests.”</p><p>Kendra seemed surprised, “Of course, Riff, may I ask what's going on?”</p><p>Riff looked at his companion then back at Kendra, “I think the Sheriff should be the one to tell you, ma'am.  Can you all please come with us?”</p><p>She turned to her guests, “I’ve known the Sheriff for a long time, and he was friends with my father.  He wouldn’t bother us unless it was necessary.  I think we should go.”</p><p>Karl agreed to accompany the deputies, but without explanation of the reason for the sheriff's request he and Michael insisted on being armed and armored before leaving the Lorrimor house.  The rest of the companions gathered their belongings, then followed the deputies outside and into the street.  Several clear glass vials clinked reassuringly at Shanoa’s side as she walked.  Roland, coat and cane in hand, was clearly nervous following the deputies.  He hung toward the back of the group as they headed to the statue and kept to himself.  Throughout Ravengro, people were heading toward the center of town, northwards.  Many had puzzled looks on their faces, and some were walking so fast they were almost jogging.  The deputies led in the same direction that everyone else seemed to be heading.</p><p>A large group of people clustered in the town center, staring at a large statue.  Many different voices echoed across the cobblestones in tones of disbelief.  As they got closer, they could see the people were standing about twenty feet away from the statue behind a large rope that had been raised to encircle the monument.  Three men were inside the rope: a male and a female dressed like the deputies, and another older man who also wore a longsword at his side.  “Sheriff!  We got them for you!” one of the deputies called out.  The Sheriff, along with half the crowd, turned to look as they got closer.</p><p>The Sheriff was an older man with a deep scar on his right cheek.  His other was puffed out slightly as he chewed on something, revealed to be tomac when he turned his head and spit a glob.  Rubbing it into the ground with the sole of his boot, he turned back to Kendra, “Ms. Lorrimor, I hope you are feeling well?”</p><p>“I’m doing as well as can be expected.  What’s this all about, Benjan?”</p><p>He held her gaze for a moment before pointedly looking over each of the newcomers.  He was obviously trying to glean some insight as he narrowed his eyes slightly.  Spitting again, he stepped to the side, “This, Ms. Lorrimor, is why I roused you.”</p><p>Behind the Sheriff was a large statue of a man in uniform holding a cudgel by his side and wearing a badge.  The plaque on the base read “Warden Lyvar Hawkran, hero of Harrowstone”, with dozens more names engraved below that title.  Most disturbing, however, was the large letter ‘V’ that has been painted across the plaque in bright red.  The monument, and the ground around it, have had the same liquid thrown around, as if somebody were spraying it about.</p><p>The Sheriff spoke to the group again, “Found it early this morning.  We roped it off and started looking around, but we haven’t found anything yet.”</p><p>He looked at Kendra for a moment before continuing in a lower tone meant only for her ears, “Not to tempt Pharasma so soon after the burial, but we always asked your father for help when we had something strange to figure out. I’m not sure if you have any of your father’s talents, but this has us tied up like a calf for branding.  We don’t know where to start, what we’re looking for, or why this happened.  If there is anything you can do to help, it would be much appreciated.”</p><p>Kendra looked from the Sheriff to the statue.  After a long pause, she shook her head, “I’m sorry, Sheriff, my talents lie in other areas, I can’t help you.”  She then turned to look at the group, “But even though I won’t be of much use, my father had a number of talented and devoted friends who shared his passions.  Perhaps one of them might be able to help?”</p><p>Karl and Shanoa both nodded and, crossing the rope, began to further inspect the statue.  She felt an uneasy chill as she glanced again at the red V, then stumbled as Karl almost bumped heads with her as he searched the area.  Upon meeting with the sheriff, Roland couldn’t meet his gaze.  When the sheriff revealed the defaced statue, however, curiosity replaced his nervousness and he quickly joined Shanoa over the rope, looking at the marks, and carefully avoiding bumping into Karl.</p><p>When Oorin saw the statue, he stared at it for a moment, taking it all in, before muttering, “Interesting,” in a somewhat distracted fashion.  After that, he clambered onto the statue poking his nose into every crevice.  Michael stepped up and closed his eyes, shaking his head in pain as he realized someone may have been gravely injured.  He opened them again, and they glowed a soft blue as he turned his divine gaze upon the statue.</p><p>After scratching at some of the blood, and pondering the statue for a while, Roland looked at Shanoa.  “I don't think this is human blood.”</p><p>Oorin turned to the others, “Nothing magical here.  Well, at least, not in and of itself.  The overt nature of the display makes me think that it was meant to send a message, but to who?  And for what purpose?  If it had just been to cause terror, then the use of humanoid blood would have been more effective than animal.  Any thoughts?”</p><p>Roland replied, “I can't think of any occult significance to the letter ‘V.’ Could this have something to do with...” Roland stopped himself and glanced at all the people still milling about.  He lowered his voice, “That group the Professor was investigating?”</p><p>Karl shrugged.  “There's been too much foot traffic here for me to pick out the tracks of whoever did this, but...huh, what's that on the Town Hall?”  The half-elf wandered over to the southern wall of the edifice to get a closer look.</p><p>Roland attempted to attract the sheriff’s attention.  “Um, sheriff?  Ah, excuse me.  I, uh, don't suppose we might be able to discuss the, uh, circumstances of Professor Lorrimor's death with you?  Also, some of our group was, uh, curious, about the spot where he was found...”  He shifted uncomfortably while speaking, and had trouble looking directly at the man.</p><p>Michael added, “This is quite a disturbing scene.  Sheriff, who exactly found the statue like this?  Who reported it to you?  I'd like to ask them a few questions.”</p><p>The sheriff responded, “One of my deputies found the statue early this morning, right before dawn as he was finishing his nightly rounds.” He indicated the deputy named Riff who came to get everyone at Kendra's house.</p><p>Michael walked over to Riff and politely interrogated the deputy.  Riff fidgeted, obviously a bit nervous.  “Well sir, I had the evening patrol last night, so I started at midnight.  I was finishing my last round near on six this morning, going back to the jail to report, and that’s when I found this, so maybe three hours ago.  I didn’t see nobody.  I had a lantern too, one of those nice ones that stays lit in the rain!  So, I shined it around, but I didn’t see nothing.  Nobody’s missing that I know of.  Well, finding the Professor out at the prison was 'sterious, but that’s it...yep, that’s all.”  The paladin sensed he was holding something back, and when pressed, he lowered his voice as he leaned in and earnestly confided, “Well, I’ll tell you what, the past few nights, the south road has been really dark, I mean real black dark, even without the rain and storms. My lantern went out a few nights ago down there, first time it’s ever happened too – and it still had fuel - the light just went out.  And last night, on my second trip around town, I started losing my breath and getting jumpy, like something was out there, watching me.  Not saying I’m ‘fraid or nothing, but it was not normal.  At all.”</p><p>He paused and suddenly got an anxious look on his face, “Please don’t tell Sheriff I said nothing about that, alright?  He wouldn’t like me telling tales.”</p><p>Roland stepped back behind the roped off area and took in the whole monument as Michael spoke with the sheriff and deputy.  “’Warden Lyvar Hawkran, Hero of Harrowstone.’ Perhaps the defacement is aimed at the memory of this man?” He looked to Kendra.  “Do you know who he was?  Or why he might be memorialized here?”</p><p>Kendra responded, “Warden Hawkran was in charge of Harrowstone Prison, just south of town.  About 50 years ago, the prisoners started a massive fire inside the building.  Warden Hawkran was able to keep them from escaping, but he ended up dying inside the prison with his wife and several guards.  The town had this built to memorialize him and all those who died in the fire.”</p><p>Michael's ears perked up at the mention of fire - the Professor's journal mentioned something of the sort.  Michael turned to Kendra, “Do you know any other details about this fire?  Who started it, and how?  Was it a magical or mundane fire?”</p><p>Kendra considers Michael's questions, “I'm sorry, I don't really know much more about the fire.  The Town Hall records might have more information though.  They have scrolls that date back to the town's founding, so I'm certain you would be able to find something about Harrowstone and the fire there.”</p><p>Arthur leaned over to Roland and spoke in a low voice through his helmet.  “I am not great on book learning but there are some things that I read in the Professor's journal last night that demand answers.  Perhaps you all have the answers that would shed light.  If you do not mind, I would like to ask you some questions.”</p><p>“I'd be very interested to hear what you've found and would be happy to assist, but perhaps when we're once again in private.” Roland gestured at the townsfolk who are still milling about.</p><p>“I see something of the Professor in you, Roland.  Perhaps, we can discuss it at the nearest tavern.  Those people do not believe in tall tales.”</p><p>Roland was taken aback by the compliment.  “Well, thank you Arthur!” He looked back at the statue.  “Strange to think I arrived in town just yesterday, and suddenly there's so very much to be done.  One moment.”  He turned to Michael, Oorin and Shanoa, noticing that Karl had disappeared.  “Arthur wishes to discuss some of the finer points of the Professor's journal at one of the local taverns, and I yet have business in town.  The sheriff also agreed to meet with us this afternoon if we desire.”</p><p>Meanwhile, Karl found another splattering of blood on the wall of the town hall.  Stopping short, he immediately surveyed for additional clues or tracks.  The ground was mostly grass and packed dirt and had mostly dried from the recent rain.  As he looked around, the sunlight broke through the leaves to catch a small oak tree in such a way he happened to notice another speck of red clearly on the bark.  As he moved to the oak, he saw a droplet of blood had dried on the bark of the tree about three feet off the ground.  Scanning the area, he saw a dense copse of trees 75 feet away, and as if his eyes were pulled toward the spot, saw several spots of red on the ground near the edge of the grove.  <em> More drops of blood!  </em>Karl walked back to the others.  “I've found something of a trail.  Very faint, but I believe it is the same blood as is on the statue.  Would any of you care to accompany me?”</p><p>“Indeed, I would,” Oorin replied.  “If we can determine the type of blood used or the manner in which it was done, we may get some answers.”  Oorin was thinking out loud at this point.  “Perhaps it was the slaying of the beast that was important, some ritual perhaps and the statue defacement was mere spite, or a distraction.”  Oorin shook his head in perplexity, “Too many unknowns.  I confess, had I known a mystery awaited me here I might have come better prepared.”  Oorin then let out a monstrous yawn and seemed immediately embarrassed by it.  “By the Eldest, where did that come from?”</p><p>Shanoa looked over at what Karl had found.  “You're right.  I'd like to see where this trail leads - we can meet back at the tavern later, if you'd like.”</p><p>Michael nodded slowly.  “Let's follow the tracks Karl found for now.”</p><p>Roland's eyebrows raised, and he looked at the helmed Priest.  “We can convene later if you'd prefer to look into this trail, first, or I can come with you now.  It's your call.”</p><p>Arthur showed a sign of single-mindedness, “I cannot put off this matter for another hour and I implore you to see the urgency.  We must discuss this now, Roland.”</p><p>Roland was a little surprised, and a little unnerved.  <em> This must be quite urgent indeed.  It would give me an opportunity to unburden my suspicions, too.  </em>He nodded, “Very well.”  Turning to Shanoa, he continued, “I guess you, Karl, Michael, and Oorin can follow the trail.  Arthur and I shall head to the tavern and compare notes.  When you've completed your search, we can all rally there and plan our next move.”  He then added to Kendra, “Miss Lorrimor, I don't know how interested you are in following in your father's investigative footsteps, but your familiarity with the town may help Karl and Shanoa in their search.  I'm sure we all understand if you'd prefer to head home, however.”  He then turned back to Arthur, and gestured with his free hand.  “Lead on, good sir,” then more quietly he muttered, “So many questions.  Just what have I landed in the middle of?”</p><p>Karl gave Roland an understanding grin.  “Don't let him scare you too much,” he nodded his head toward Arthur.  “He's really a big softy.”  He then turned to Michael, Oorin, and Shanoa.  “If you'll follow me, I'll show you what I've found so far.”</p><p>The Sheriff had been moving around the area attempting to disperse the townsfolk, “Nothing to see now, move along.” It was obvious the people respected him as they began moving off to other concerns.</p><p>Karl led the others to the town hall, then the lone tree, pointing out the drops along the way.  Finally, he led them to the thicket and said, “This is as far as I came before I brought you here, but if we keep our wits about us, hopefully more will be revealed.  Please be mindful of where you step and what you touch, the sign of our quarry may be nearby.  Shanoa, you know something of tracking, don't you?  Any help you'd care to give would be appreciated.  Michael, Oorin, keep your eyes peeled for clues.  You may spot something I miss, and hopefully we can gain some insight as to what manner of creature this blood came from.”</p><p>Shanoa pointed to the barn behind the grove, and the group moved ahead.  Getting closer, Karl noticed another small splatter of blood on the ground near the northeastern corner of the building.  This one was different from the others, however, in that it was clearly dropped from something that was moving toward the barn, then stopped when it reached the corner.  Looking up, Karl saw a small field of winter wheat - the blood trail leads there.</p><p>“Instead of trying to sift the wheat from the chaff, I think I'll seek the high ground.”  Karl scampered up the barn easily, reaching a point at the apex of the roof nearly thirty feet above the ground.  Looking over the field, he saw three areas where the wheat appears disturbed beyond the point of natural growth.  Further arousing suspicion, all three appeared to meet at a central location near the center of the field.  Two paths ran southeast from this point, though they diverged to become a few feet apart when they reached the edge of the wheat.  Another path ran from the central point northeast, toward the barn.</p><p>As Karl was noting the locations of these disturbed areas, a short gust of wind, followed by an odor of rotten meat caught his attention.  Karl's gaze followed the gust toward a ventilated cupola on the roof.  From between the slats, a growling bald man with glowing yellow eyes suddenly materialized and lept toward Karl with an upraised axe in his hand!  He just managed to keep his feet but cried out in pain at the gash on the side of his neck.</p><p>The apparition disappeared immediately after striking, and Karl noticed there was no blood despite what he felt.  Instead of a cut, a large bruise had developed.  <em> This can't be happening...people do not just appear and disappear like that.  Especially not men with glowing eyes.  “ </em>What is this foul sorcery... Did you all see that?  I’m not crazy!  Something happened!”  Karl gathered himself and carefully made his way back down the side of the barn to the relative safety of the ground.</p><p>Michael had staggered back as the evil from Karl’s assailant overwhelmed him.  As Karl came down, Michael quickly seized the young man's uninjured arm.  “Are you alright?  Did that man say anything to you before he disappeared?”  The pulse of evil still lodged in Michael's brain, he looked down at Karl's bruise and concentrated on it.</p><p>Oorin ran over to Karl, “Good, you don't appear to be seriously injured.  It appeared to be a phantasm of some sort: mostly real if your mind believes it's real.  This was most likely set up to deter the average local whom it could have seriously injured, possibly even killed.”  The gnome looks out into the field even though he isn't tall enough to see over the wheat stalks.  “That they felt a need to protect this indicates its importance.  If your wound doesn't bother you too much, I suggest we investigate all the disturbances you saw.”</p><p>“You have definitely been tainted by evil, my friend, but it seems to be fading.”  Michael looked at Karl with a worried expression.  “How do you feel?  Does anything feel strange or different, or are you just in pain?”</p><p>Karl was somewhat taken aback by Michael's comments.  “Tainted by evil?  Gods preserve me from that!  I will admit, my neck does pain me fiercely, although it is strange to see a bruise where I expect a gash, but I don't think it said anything.”  </p><p>After Michael had his turn, Shanoa asked to examine the bruise.  “Let me see if I can do something about the pain.” Taking his arm in her hand, she gently touched the injured spot on his neck and rubbed in circles, both bruise and pain fading as she went.  She spoke while working.  “Yes, sometimes spirits leave traces or memories, or even worse things behind.  What you saw could have been such a thing.  And since it left a mark, I'd say you don't have to worry about being mad - whatever it was was real enough.”</p><p>Karl shook his head, as though trying to clear it and then squatted down on his heels.  “From what I can tell, a small trap was set here, perhaps two or three days ago.  It snared a small animal, possibly rat, rabbit, or squirrel, but not much blood was shed.  That is most likely the source of the V on the statue, if I had to hazard a guess.  As far as the trails go, one of the western ones was only used to enter the field, I don't think anyone exited that way.  It looks like they left to the north.  Also, I'd say they were made last night, around the time when our vandal struck the statue.  The last western trail is older, perhaps as much as half a week and shows signs coming and going.  I also caught a whiff of carrion when I was on the roof, before whatever that thing was attacked me. We may want to investigate the barn further.”</p><p>He turned to Oorin and looked the gnome in the eye.  “You said it was a phantasm?  What is that?  Some kind of spirit from beyond the grave?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Oorin replied.  “But there are also types of illusion that your mind can make partly real.  I agree about investigating the barn.  I see nothing here that they would need to hide behind a warding like the one you encountered.  Just in case, I'm going to try and sneak into the barn unnoticed.  Who knows who might be watching?”</p><p>Karl rubbed his neck.  “Thank you Shanoa!  That feels better already!  Well, what say you two?"  He looked at Michael and Shanoa.  "Shall we investigate the barn?”</p><p>There were three entrances to the barn on the ground level: a standard doorway on the northern side, a standard doorway on the western side, and two large doors on the southern side of the barn, facing the field.  A large door provided access to the second floor, the sort used for moving hay into the loft.</p><p>Oorin found a loose board on the barn and sneaked in effortlessly.  Beams of sunlight illuminated the inside of the barn enough to easily reveal its contents.  He noted hay on the floor, bales in the loft, and stalls along the northern wall.  Two of these stalls were empty, and two contained mules.  A stout wooden ladder led to the loft.</p><p>Karl pulled the greatsword off his back into a two-handed grip and did his best to stealthily approach from the western entrance.  As he led the group into the barn, Oorin leaped out of his hiding place, nearly scaring Michael to death, and the group commenced the scouring of the barn.  Unfortunately, after several minutes, nobody could find anything out of the ordinary.  There were several sets of tracks, but all lead to the houses nearby, and into the fields.</p><p>"Well, there appears to be nothing here," Oorin stated the obvious, sounding a bit disappointed.  He turned to the others and shrugged.</p><p>“Yes, let’s make our way back to town and find out what Roland and Arthur have gotten up to.”  Karl sheathed his sword somewhat sheepishly and led the way back to the inn.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 3</h2></a>
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    <p>
  <span>Roland and Arthur arrived at a tavern northwest of the town square.  The unassuming building overlooked the river that runs through town, and several other people were also heading there, gossiping freely about the desecration of the statue.  They rented a private room, and a few minutes passed before a large rotund man appeared, “Zokar Elkarid, owner of The Laughing Demon, at your service.  You helped bury the old Professor, right?  Well, he was a good man and it was a shame what happened.  It’d be my honor to serve you myself.  Let me buy you a drink, to remember him by.”  Arthur nodded his thanks, noticing that the other tables in the tavern were waited on by servers, not Zokar himself.</span>
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  <span>Roland thanked Zokar and ordered a cup of mead, “Some companions may arrive shortly to join us.  Please let them know we're in the back.”  He waited until they’re alone, then leaned in and lowered his voice out of habit.  “What did you wish to discuss?”</span>
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  <span>“I have some suspicion as to what happened to The Professor.  First, tell me all that you know about the Whispering Way.” The helmed priest maintained the volume and firmness of his voice, very much unafraid of whoever might hear their conversation.</span>
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  <span>Roland looked a little sheepish.  “Sadly, I don’t know much more than you, I suspect.  Other than what we read yesterday in the Professor's journal.  They seem to be some cult dedicated to undeath, yes?  And he mentioned they were interested in something related to this ruined prison.”</span>
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  <span>“You are not dissecting the journal entries enough, Roland.  What do cultists dedicated to undeath seek?  Is it not eternal life?”  Arthur asked Roland leading questions like a lawyer in a courtroom.</span>
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  <span>Roland tapped his fingers on the table, thinking for a moment.  “Well, I wouldn't say eternal life, per se, because the undead aren't really living.  But certainly a continuance of sorts, one that stretches beyond death.”</span>
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  <span>“And how do you think they plan to achieve such an end?  Surely such is common knowledge among the learned?”</span>
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    <span>What is Arthur getting at, exactly?  “</span>
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  <span>I wouldn't exactly call such knowledge common at all.  Indeed, in some corners of Ustalav even the suggestion that you possess such knowledge could get you hanged.  I don't think I need to remind you of the reception the funeral received yesterday from some of the more superstitious locals.  Still, I have heard tell of arcane means that can allow more unscrupulous practitioners to continue beyond their natural lifespan.  And I’m under the impression you can catch undeath through other means.  I admit my research tends toward subjects of life and the living.”</span>
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  <span>“And what rumors of such research have you heard, Roland?  Please feel free to speculate.  Perhaps a correspondence you may have had with the Professor can provide the answer.”</span>
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  <span>Roland took a sip of his mead and hummed to himself for a moment.  “Well, if an arcane means of becoming a powerful, free-willed undead exists, I certainly have never heard of it - and I consider myself to be something of an expert in such matters.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Though it’s possible Oorin may know something I don't on the matter.  “</span>
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  <span>Very well, speculation.  If it’s not a common ritual, it must be secret, and it must require a great deal of effort and power to perform.  Likely rare and potent reagents.  And when you dabble in the darker arts of necromancy, one can assume many of those reagents may not exactly be legal.”  Roland frowned.  “Do you suspect this ‘Whispering Way’ may be searching for powerful tools or materials here in Ravengro?  Or at the ruined prison?”</span>
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  <span>This time Arthur whispered, “The Professor was murdered, Roland.  He was not the accident-prone man that the circumstances of his death make him out to be.  Identifying the murderer or murderers requires us to determine 3 things: motive, means, and opportunity.”</span>
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  <span>Roland leaned in.  “I suspected as much, too.  The means of his death very conveniently rendered a </span>
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    <span>Speak with Dead</span>
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  <span> spell impossible.  No one would be able to question his spirit why he was at the prison, nor about the circumstances of his death.”</span>
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  <span>“Yes, the Journal suggests as much.  I suspect the ruins and fire the Professor was referring to are the very same Harrowstone prison whose warden’s statue was defaced this morning.  And do you know of some way of protecting ourselves from ghosts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sadly no.  Again, a subject a little too far afield for me.  However, last night both Shanoa and Michael mentioned some prior experience with the undead.  Perhaps they may have some ideas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur opened the journal and re-read a passage that had been troubling him.  “Listen to this: The Professor suspected that this Whispering Way people were looking for something in the Harrowstone Prison, something that may prolong life or the semblance of it.  The prison is now inhabited by ghosts whose identities could be the ones who died there during the fire.  The tools for our protection against ghosts could be found in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path.  If we do not stop these Whispering Way people then perhaps they and the ghosts of Harrowstone may pose an even greater threat to Ravengro."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland sighed and drank some more mead.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can't very well abandon this.  If the Professor was murdered, there must be justice.  More than that... if he was a stalwart opponent of evil, I would be a poor student indeed if I did not carry on his legacy.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Agreed.  We cannot allow this to escalate.  This morning's vandalism of the monument may be related to this somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems to me the answers to our questions lie at the scene of the Professor's murder.  Therefore, we must learn all we can about this Harrowstone Prison.  We should also speak with the local temple of Pharasma about this false crypt and see what tools it can provide us.”  He dipped his finger in his mead and drew a wet ‘V’ on the table between himself and Arthur.  “Perhaps when the others rejoin us, they may have more answers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let's go back to the monument.  The act of vandalism suggests that it is important somehow.  By the way, do you have strong ties with the Pharasman church?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was brought up in the faith but wouldn't exactly call myself practicing.”  Roland rose and finished his mead.  “The others were going to meet us back here.  I'll leave a message for them.”  As the pair left the inn, he stopped to speak with Zokar again.  “If you don't mind, hold our room for the duration of our rental.  If our associates return while we're still out, please take them back there and let them know we'll be back shortly.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I still have to send that letter to the University, too. Mustn't forget to do that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The unusual duo left the tavern back towards the monument and arrived just as the others were returning from their search.  The crowd has largely dispersed with only a few stragglers loitering about.  Two deputies were walking around with shovels scooping up bloody dirt surrounding the monument and putting it in a large bucket.  Another deputy was vigorously scrubbing the monument to remove the blood specks, and despite his efforts, the V was still visible.  The fourth deputy continued to keep an eye on people as they moved around the square, obviously taking pains to keep the area clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl spotted Roland and Arthur and waved them over.  Oorin turned to greet Roland and Arthur as well but ended up letting out another tremendous yawn instead.  Roland waved back to Karl, “What luck!  We were just on our way to the statue so Arthur could take another look.  I have a private room rented at the Laughing Demon Inn for the next few hours where we had intended to join back up with you shortly.”  Roland leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Arthur and I have discussed some of our suspicions regarding the Professor's fate.  Perhaps we could all discuss things further in private?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sheriff was still there, talking with a small group of people, one of whom they recognize as Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman of Ravengro, and the man who read the Professor's will last night.  Michael smiled, walking over to greet the noble with a friendly “Good morning!  How are you doing today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Councilman Hearthmont turned slowly, displeasure obvious in his face.  Seeing Michael addressing him, he took a deep breath, “Ah, one of the Professor's...associates.  How do you think I am doing, young man?  Some cretin has decided to deface our monument, and now we're hearing about how our Sheriff is encouraging outsiders to get involved in our business without Council approval!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A woman beside him exclaimed, “Vashian!  Show some respect to our visitors!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vashian bowed slightly, “Oh, of course, Mirta.  If it wasn't for their friend the Professor, we wouldn't be having these troubles now, would we?”  He sighed and turned back to Michael, “Look, I'm sure you and your friends mean well, but we already sent for help - experienced professional help - and they should be here any day.  So, while I appreciate your efforts, you don't need to feel obligated to stay any longer than absolutely necessary.  To be frank, we don't need your help, and we don't want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman named Mirta looked shocked, “Vashian!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough!  We have other matters to discuss!” he roared at her, startling all the others and causing the deputies working nearby to turn in surprise.  Vashian waved his hand in a clear sign of dismissal, “Now, if you will excuse us, we have to finish our business.” As Vashian looked away, Shanoa noticed the Sheriff taking the opportunity to mouth the word ‘later’, and she nodded understandingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael gasped, completely taken aback by the aristocrat’s behavior.  He frowned and raised his hands in shock.  "M-my sincerest apologies, I had no idea that we were intruding on an investigation, I just...I thought...I'm sorry." He hung his head sadly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland was taken quite by surprise by the rudeness and shifted uncomfortably.  The only thing that made it out of his mouth was, “Er...” He cleared his throat and tried to stay out of sight behind Karl and Shanoa.  Leaning close to the latter, he spoke quietly, “I can understand his trepidation in trusting strangers with village business, but there's no need for rudeness!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Vashian said was so completely contrary to what everyone else so obviously was feeling that Oorin assumed the man must be joking and started laughing out loud.  Continuing to laugh he pointed at Vashian, “Ah, an excellent jest good sir.  Truly you...” Oorin trailed off when he saw everyone's expression and realized that this idiot was serious and tried to lamely cover his laughter with coughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, well.  You’ve sent for experienced professional help have you?  A good idea, yes, most excellent...to deal with what exactly?”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pompous windbag...</span>
  </em>
  <span>Oorin cared nothing for what the councilman thought of him but noticed Arthur inspecting the statue and decided to delay a bit to give him the chance to examine it before all possible clues washed away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying that we did this?” he asked as indignantly as he can muster.  Oorin turned to the Sheriff, “As a worker in stone I consider this a serious accusation; what evidence has been brought forth that would implicate any of us in this?  I would also like to remind the councilman that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>late</span>
  </em>
  <span> Professor was </span>
  <em>
    <span>deceased</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the time of the defacement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa quickly stepped up and tried to silence the gnome.  “Shh, this isn't the time.  Making enemies in the town's nobility won’t help us investigate the professor's death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She barely had time to step in front of him before Sheriff Caellar’s face twisted into exasperation as he called to one of his men, “Deputy Trestleblade!  Please escort these visitors outside the incident scene!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small woman quickly came over and began herding the group away from the monument.  Vashian watched them go with a small frown on his face.  Seeing that Arthur had had a chance to examine the statue, Oorin immediately ceased his tirade and allowed himself to be herded away as if nothing had happened.  He whistled a merry tune as he leisurely strolled, cheerfully waving and greeting passerby’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl also decided it was best to comply at this point.  “Come friends, let’s not linger where we're not wanted.  I for one could use a cup of something hot.”  Michael nodded and kept his head down, following his companions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa bowed slightly at the sheriff as they passed.  “Please forgive my friends here, we didn’t mean to cause a scene.  Good luck with the investigation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.  As I mentioned, you’ll find a private room waiting in the Laughing Demon.  I will join you in just a moment...”  Roland excused himself and popped into the general store to have the letter he had written up the night before sent to his colleagues at Lepidstatd to inform them of his delay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tall man with a shaggy brown beard introduced himself as Luthko, owner of the store.  He greeted Roland and pointed out his wife, Marta, as she helped other customers.  As they spoke, several small girls were running around the store; based on their appearance and dress, they were likely Luthko and Marta's daughters.  Luthko agreed to mail the message, only 2 copper for such a small package.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he turned to leave, one item caught his attention - an ornate suit of full plate mail rested on a rack at the back of the store.  Though it appeared to be on display, it was obviously not just a decorative piece.  His eyes panned over the ornate metal working, and the curiosity was just too much to resist.  He turned back to Luthko.  “An odd piece for a general store in such a small town to be selling.  It is yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luthko looked over to the armor, “Oh, that old suit?  We’ve had it taking up space here for so long, I just ignore it these days.  Marta got that from her mother when she went to Pharasma's judgement about ten years ago.  It was a family heirloom or something, don’t really remember the story to be honest with you.  But it's not for sale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luthko suddenly gave him a long look, obviously deciding something.  “No sir, I don't think Marta would sell it, that armor being so important to her and all.  I just don’t think she could ever be convinced to part with that huge suit of armor.  That armor that takes up so much space... that heavy suit of armor... just taking up so much space in our store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luthko gave Roland another appraising look, and before he could say anything, continued, “Ah well, at least you’re not the first person to even notice it in, I don't know, five or six years.  But it’s not for sale, Marta just hasn't had the heart to get rid of it.  It being a family heirloom and all.”  He sighed, “I tell you sir, it's a mighty big job to keep it clean, and it’s so heavy and dangerous with the girls around...one of the gauntlets fell off the other day and nearly brained little Greda...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland smiled, catching Luthko’s meaning.  “Well, perhaps Marta would be inclined to see it go to good use somewhere else, rather than moldering on a shelf?  Carrying on its legacy, as it were?  I myself am no armored warrior as you can plainly see, but I may know some folk who could use a fine suit of plate.  I'll be sure to mention it to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Roland excused himself from the shop and headed back across the square to </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Laughing Demon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, rejoining the group in the private room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for my delay.” He apologized as he hung his coat and took a seat.  “I was speaking with the shop owner at the general store.  Did I miss anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa shook her head politely, “We just sat down ourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl ordered coffee and sipped it warily.  He took a moment to speak to whoever will listen.  “Is it just me, or is something very strange going on here?  First that thing appears out of thin air, and an axe wound that should have made me a head shorter is just a bruise, then this talk of professional investigation, and then there's the professor's death, and ghosts and whatever this Whispering Way business is all about. Between you and me, I think we might be in over our heads.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa continued, “Karl, you may be right, but we've all given our word to stay in town anyway, and I just don't feel right sitting around doing nothing with all these strange occurrences around us.  Besides, I think we owe it to the Professor to at least try and find out what really was behind his untimely death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland nodded and leaned in.  “Arthur and I were saying exactly that earlier.  We’re both fairly convinced he may have been murdered.  There's certainly enough evidence to support the theory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael shook his head firmly.  “I will not interfere with a legal investigation if I am not wanted there.  I don’t want to get in the way of these fine men and their work.  Besides, Karl almost fell off a barn while he was attempting to ‘investigate’.”  Thinking about what the Professor said to him, about never losing faith and standing up for what he believes in, Michael gritted his teeth.  “No, wait.  That’s not right.  Forgive me, friends.  I faltered, but for just a moment.  We are here to help Miss Kendra first, but we can also help the town.  If there is someone here who means to do harm to the town, then I will defend it.”  Turning to his companions, Michael frowned.  “So, Shanoa, Roland, and Arthur.  Did any of you find anything out?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa shook her head sadly.  “Other than there is some evil, which you yourself found, and Karl’s encounter with what may have been some illusionary magic, or worse, sadly I think we know very little.  I’d like to propose a trip to the location where the Professor died, but we should be prepared first.  We’ll need to stop at the temple, and I’d also like to find out more about the history of that place, what happened in that fire and all.  Perhaps the town hall has records we could research.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded his head as Shanoa spoke.  “Yes, first to the temple of Pharasma.  That priest struck me as a good man.  Hopefully he can be of help.  I hope you all can forgive me for my reservations.  I am accustomed to working on my own, but I can see how all of us together can aid Ms. Lorrimor and find these foul murderers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what's this about illusions?”  Roland's eyebrows rose.  “What did you find in your search?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl relayed the details of the blood splatters leading from the statue to the field, his findings there, and his brush with death atop the barn.  After Karl related the events of the day, Oorin turned to Roland, “That was my initial thought: that he was attacked by some sort of phantasm; however, that type of illusion is just a trick played on the mind.  I can’t remember ever hearing of one that would be intrinsically ‘evil’ nor leave a wound that would detect as such.  I think my initial thought was mistaken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning to face everyone, “Also, I would like to apologize for my little ‘acting’ stunt earlier, but I felt it necessary.  At first, I genuinely believed the Councilman to be joking.  I got a good look at the faces of the townsfolk as he was talking and Councilman Vahsian’s views were not shared by those who were present.” Oorin paused, “I do not know why he is so eager to find a scapegoat in this matter.  His loud indignation will not help solve matters nor even improve his standing in Ravengro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What is going on in this town?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland sat back, mulling over Karl and Oorin’s words.  “Very strange.  Some evil is at play here and it seems the Professor may have stumbled into the middle of it unprepared.”  He nodded to Shanoa.  “I agree with you.  Before we proceed, we should learn all we can about what it is we face."  He couldn’t help but suddenly smile to himself, a memory of the Professor saying similar words to him years ago forming in his mind.  He cleared his throat.  “A trip to the Temple of Pharasma would certainly be a good first step.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur concurred, “I welcome a trip to the Temple."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well, let us depart then.” Karl got up, paid his tab, and prepared to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the group headed out from the inn, Roland glanced back at the General Store.  “Ah, I almost forgot.  The shopkeeper's wife has a suit of masterful looking plate mail she may be willing to part with, though she may need to be persuaded.  Seems she has no use for it but can't seem to bring herself to sell it.”  His eyes pass between Shanoa, Michael, Arthur, and Karl.  “I’m no man-of-arms, myself, but perhaps it may be of use to someone else.  Especially if we expect that we've found ourselves in the midst of a dangerous situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael should have it.” Arthur declared and followed Karl.  Michael nodded and turned alone for the store.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Upon arriving at the temple, Roland stopped at the altar and made the sign of the spiral over his heart, showing the respect he was taught as a youth.  Shanoa bowed deeply before the priest before speaking.  “Your grace, the late professor left us documents alluding to some tools useful against the undead that have been stored in a crypt here.  We would like to take a visit to the location where he passed, to further investigate, but due to rumors of...strange occurrences there we feel it would be best to be prepared.  With your permission, we would like to make use of those tools.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow considered her words before turning to an acolyte and instructing him to fetch something.  Turning back, he continued, “I do not recall anything about tools being stored in a crypt here in Ravengro, but I do not discount the possibility.  Renauld is retrieving a book that might have the answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused and took a deep breath, “As for retrieving them, that is a different matter.  If these tools are indeed inside a crypt, then opening it is a serious matter in our faith - and it would take a high degree of trust for me to turn these items of our church over to a group of...let us say worshippers of different faiths.  What can you tell me about these strange occurrences?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa paused, unsure of how much information to share with the priest.  “Ghosts, sir.  They say Harrowstone is haunted, but as I’m from out of town, I do not know the full story - just that there was a fire.  I don't suppose you could tell us what happened there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow placed his hands behind his back as he responded, “Yes, it makes a good story, doesn’t it?  A prison full of the most violent and disturbing criminals in history, all consumed by the fires of their own hand during an escape attempt.  What a horror!  But truly haunted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started to speak, then closed his mouth.  He finally continued in a subdued tone, “We searched the prison after the fire.  Yes, I was an acolyte then, and I was there.  Such a horrible place, made worse by the stench of fire and death. We spent days trying to find survivors, then days more looking for any signs of the undead.  We found neither.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimburrow grimaced, “So are you repeating the stories, or do you have something more to convince me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The professor knew there were ghosts,” Karl said sullenly.  “He had been there and seen them for himself.  He even wrote about them in his journal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa sighed slightly.  “There was a group of necromancers performing some sort of ritual there.  It’s possible they may have awakened those who slumbered in the prison.  And…I’ve faced the undead before unprepared,” she shuddered visibly at the memory, “and I’d prefer to never have to do so again.”  Looking around, her eyes fell on a collection box.  “My loyalties lie elsewhere, but I respect Pharasma and her church.  I also understand that she has no love for the undead - please, we're on the same side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland spoke up, “Karl, ah, didn't you say you had been attacked by some phantasm earlier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the ground.  “I don't know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was…”  He raised his head and looked the priest in the eye.  “I was on top of that barn that overlooks the small field, southeast of town.  That’s where the trail of blood splatters lead.  Same blood as was on the statue, we think.  See, I’m a hunter, a tracker by trade.  Those spots were hard to find, but I spotted them by Erastil's grace, begging your pardon, father.  And they led to that field, so I got up on the barn to have a better look, for trails in the grass, if you take my meaning, when he appeared, out of nowhere!  Not like he was hiding and snuck up on me, like I was looking at the cupola and he’s just there, out of thin air!  Mad yellow eyes, and an axe that should've taken my head off, ‘cept for it didn't, even though it struck true.  I near fell off that roof for my trouble.  And we searched that barn, father.  Gods strike me blind if we didn't, but he just weren’t there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl lapsed back into silence, unused to saying so many words at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  “Several of us were there and saw it.  Something hurt him badly.  Michael said he detected something truly evil right when it happened, and it left a nasty bruise on his neck.  He’d show you but I already tended to it.  Between that and the desecration of the monument this morning, I fear something very foul is afoot around Ravengro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow listened closely.  “That certainly seems like something this Church should investigate further, and I believe I have a better understanding of your position now.  Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur added, “May we have a list of the people who died in the fire, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at the helmed warrior, Father Grimburrow replied, “Unfortunately, I can only provide you a list of people that were buried, a complete list of those who died - including those who are presumed deceased - would be located at the Town Hall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin spoke up, “I have no doubt that your examinations of the prison, at that time, were very thorough.  However, it is the problems of right now that must be dealt with.  My readings of the Professor's journals indicate that he felt this group of necromancers were part of a cult stretching back to antiquity.  If such a group truly wanted to perform profane rites, the ruins would be the perfect place; no one ever goes there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that the more superstitious in town were inclined to blame the Professor for recent ills; however, his recent passing did not prevent the desecration of the statue.  Indeed, his death at a time when he was investigating such things is suspicious by itself.  Nothing is lost by investigating further except a little time.  But we need your help to do so.  At times like this, isn’t it better to be cautious and alley everyone’s fears rather than not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the mention of necromancers, Father Grimburrow's face clouded over and his manner shifted noticeably.  “Interesting, perhaps I would not be in error to surmise this particular cult enjoys keeping secrets, perhaps by </span>
  <em>
    <span>whispering</span>
  </em>
  <span> to one another?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held up a hand to stop further discussion, “I only know of them by reputation, and I would not have their name mentioned in this sacred place.  If the Professor knew of them, and they were the source of his research when he died, then there may be an even greater threat than we realize.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The acolyte who went for the book returned, moving swiftly until he was beside Father Grimburrow.  The priest took the book and flipped through for a few seconds.  He scanned down, reading quickly, “Ah, here we go.  There is a passage here that records a decision to hide several caches of weapons and tools specifically for destroying undead abominations around Ravengro.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t list any specific locations.  So, you may be right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the book and stood in silence for nearly a minute.  He finally looked at the group, “I will allow you to investigate this crypt, but you must allow two of my acolytes to accompany you.  If there are tools inside, you are free to take whatever you wish.  Please allow my acolytes to bring whatever you don’t need back to the Temple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland was visibly relieved at the suggestion the Pharasman acolytes accompany them to the Restlands.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least no one will get the wrong idea if we’re seen mucking about, now. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin turned back to the priest.  “Did the Professor ever ask for your help during his research, Father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, the Professor did not include me in any of his recent research.  Honestly, I wouldn't have helped much, I only know the most basic details about that particular group, but one thing I do know is the leadership of my Church would be very interested to learn about any of their activities in this region. If you can confirm their involvement, would you let me know?  I’m sure we could find some way to repay you for your time."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Michael entered the general store where a stout woman greeted him.  “Good day.  My name is Michael Thronedweller.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  I have heard tell of a special suit of armor that is located within this shop.  Could you please let me examine it?”  He smiled politely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shopkeeper replied, “Welcome, sir.  My name is Marta, and this is my store.  The armor you mention is a family heirloom, so before I let you go inspecting it, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael bowed politely.  “But of course!  I am a follower of Iomedae.  In fact, Iomedae has seen fit to reward my devotion by blessing me with Her divine grace - I am a paladin of the church.  I grew up here in Ustalav.  My mother died when I was very little, and my father did his best to raise me on his own.  I like to think of myself as a caring and compassionate person who fights for justice, but everyone's opinion of themselves is likely a bit biased and not quite truthful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta looked at him impassively, folding her arms across her chest.  “Very nice, but really, couldn't anybody say that?  How do I know you're telling the truth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael frowned and rubbed the back of his head.  “I suppose you have a point there.  I am still a novice paladin, so unfortunately, I do not yet possess the touch of healing or the ability to cast spells granted to me by The Divine.  However, I do carry this symbol.” He lifted a finely crafted holy symbol of Iomedae, a gleaming sword inset into the rays of the sun which he wore proudly around his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at the necklace and considered, clearly unconvinced.  Slowly a smile curved up on her lips as she produced a set of cards, “But I've got another idea.  Are you familiar with the Harrow Deck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Harrow Deck?” Michael repeated, looking down at the cards.  “I've never heard of it before in my life.  What...is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is the Harrow Deck?  It’s a tool, much like a pan, a hammer, or your sword.  It allows me to learn things about your past, your present, and your future.”  Marta shrugged her shoulders, “Sometimes a reading reveals much, other times, almost nothing.  All you need do is ask me a question, and I read the cards.”  She turned to a nearby counter and set the cards down in six equal stacks.  Looking back at him, “So Michael Thronedweller, Paladin of Iomedae, what do you wish to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can only ask questions about myself?” Michael asked, frowning.  That tool could possibly provide some information about the Professor's death, but he would have to get Kendra in here so the cards could focus on her, as her link with the Professor was most likely the strongest of all of them.  “Very well.  I will ask a single question.  One about my future, and that is relevant to our current dilemma.  If you gave me that armor and I were to wear it into all my battles, would I accomplish great and noble deeds that would make its former owner proud?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta nodded slowly and closed her eyes.  Her lips twitched, and her head started nodding from side to side, then around in a wide circle.  This continued for a minute or so before she freezed in place with a low moan.  As if nothing happened, Marta opened her eyes and studied the six stacks in front of her.  She chose one and pulled it forward, then quickly gathered the other stacks and pushed them to the side.  “I have heard your question and have selected your cards.  Here is the first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spread the selected stack to her left so that nine individual cards lied face down in front of her.  Her hand began moving across them, back and forth, until she suddenly grabbed one.  Turning it over, she gasped and turned to look at Michael.  “The Paladin.”  She stared at the card for several seconds before placing it down above the row.  Moving quickly now, she drew all the remaining cards without comment, placing them in a grid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Attend me, Paladin.”  She began pointing at the cards, starting at the upper left corner, “The Paladin, The Beating, The Big Sky.”  Her hand moved to the second row, again moving from left to right, “The Fiend, The Uprising, The Keep.”  She paused noticeably before moving to the bottom row, “The Forge, The Bear, The Cyclone.”  Marta's hand hovered over The Paladin card.  “I am sorry to have questioned you, but there is no doubt - you are what you claim.  This location is notable, and it is the strongest card in this reading.  You have two others with strong meaning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continued along the top row, “The Big Sky, in a position of strength.  It indicates a time of momentous change lies ahead of you.”  She then moved down to the bottom right, “The Cyclone.  An unstoppable force brings nothing but destruction.  This will not be a random event, or natural disaster, but this cataclysm will happen by mortal hand.”  Marta looks at him with wide eyes, “You stand on the precipice, Paladin.  A force is assembling that will lay waste to all that we know and love.  Your fate is intertwined with these events, so, to answer your question, your destiny is not certain, but you will have the opportunity to perform great and noble deeds that will make us proud.  Come with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta gathered her cards and led him to the armor standing in the back of the store.  “When I inherited this armor, I found an inscription on the inside of the breastplate.  It reads </span>
  <em>
    <span>Singual</span>
  </em>
  <span> - apparently it means ‘Strength of the Soul’ in Ancient Azlanti.  If you wish, the armor is yours.  I will accept one thousand gold pieces in payment, at your convenience - do not worry about paying now, I do not want to deal with it, and I know you do not have it.  But I also know you will pay me back the thousand, and more.” she said, grinning at this last part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jorfa at the forge can size it for you.  I will have it delivered to her today, so stop by to meet her later.  Now, if there is nothing else, I must rest.  The reading was...stressful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael's chest swelled up with pride.  The Harrow Deck had called him a paladin!  Marta said the reading was ‘strong’ with him!  This wasn’t just some trick or some fate, no, Iomedae Herself had intervened and guided Marta's hand to show her the truth.  Michael was sure of it, which meant the divine had truly accepted him as a paladin of Her glorious being!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael grinned happily and as soon as he left the shop, threw his head back and let out a loud whoop to the sky.  Now that that was settled, huh.  Michael crosses his arms, lost in thought for a moment.  “There was something important I was supposed to do with the rest of the group today, but...I can’t really remember what it was?  Ah well, they probably don’t need my help anyway.  Oorin-kun Aneurysm is there with them, he's a wizard, I think, so if they run into any trouble, I'm sure he can just summon an angel or something to help them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Michael bit his lip.  “Wait, but then what am I supposed to do all day?  Oh, I know!” Slamming his fist into his hand excitedly.  “I’ll go check on Miss Kendra.  Since we’ve been gone all morning, someone should really go check on her to make sure she’s alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Michael headed back to the Lorrimor Estate.  He opened the door and walked into the foyer.  “Miss Kendra?  Miss Kendra, it’s me, Michael!  Are you in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael heard footsteps approaching and Kendra appeared from one of the back rooms.  “I’m here, Michael.  Have you and your friends finished helping the Sheriff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head.  “Yeah, about that, we kind of got separated earlier.  Now I don’t know where they are.  But I bet they’ll be back sooner rather than later.  In the meantime, I came here to check up on you.  How are you doing today?  Are you feeling any better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra responded, “Yes, I’m feeling much better today, um, thanks for asking.”  Her obvious discomfort at being alone with the young man seemed to go completely unnoticed by him.  Looking around, she suddenly grabbed a scroll off a nearby table, “Michael, how would you like to help me with something?  I’m supposed to drop this off by Councilman Hearthmount's house, but I’m swamped right now.  Do you suppose you could do it for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael smiled in relief.  “I’m glad to hear it.  You have a package that needs to be delivered?  Absolutely!  Shall I pick anything up for you at the market while I’m out?  Do you need any food restocked or anything like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra thought for a moment, “No, I need to run some errands later and I have a few special requests I need to discuss with the shopkeepers.  But thank you for the offer!  Councilman Hearthmount's house is right up the street, across the river, near the Temple.  Thank you again, Michael.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael blinked as Kendra grabbed his arm and guided him out the door.  “Oh, well, okay!  You can count on me, Miss Kendra, I'll make sure the scroll gets to him!” The door shut behind him and Michael sighed happily.  “I’m glad to know she's alright.  Ah well, it’s time to go deal with this other thing.  Hopefully the Councilman is in a better mood now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael failed to notice a solid ‘click’ as Kendra turned the deadbolt.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Restlands were quite peaceful this early in the morning, and only a few others were in the graveyard.  They entered through the southern gate, while an older couple stood near a headstone to the east, and a man leaned against a handcart to the northwest.  The weather was also being kind, though the thick gray clouds blocking the sun bode ill for the rest of the day.  They had spotted a confused looking Michael on their way from the church to the Restlands, and he had happily joined them once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following instructions provided in the Professor’s journal, they quickly found their target, a large granite mausoleum in the northeast corner of the graveyard at the junction of two paths.  The roof was decorated in an older style incorporating several leering gargoyles along the roofline.  A single stone door sat in the south side of the mausoleum with a rusted lock holding it in place.  Fortunately, a cursory examination of the lock revealed that it was actually broken, but someone had obviously taken care to arrange the lock so it would appear undamaged to casual viewers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they arrived at the crypt, Roland looked up at one of the leering gargoyles.  He’d felt distracted, even a little nervous ever since they entered the graveyard.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s been years since I've paid much attention to the old Pharasman teachings, and yet now, suddenly, I feel the weight of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur noticed the man with the cart was resting in front of Professor Lorrimer’s grave.  He found that to be disrespectful and moved to shoo the man away.  “Ho!  You there!  Be on your way!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man turned to watch Arthur approach.  He appeared to be a human male wearing loose coveralls and a white wool shirt.  His face and hands showed the wear of a man who has spent many days working outside.  He stood up from his cart and pulled his hat off his head, rolling it up and holding it by his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl turned to Roland and spoke softly, “It looks like someone's been here recently.  Maybe they're still around?” He then turned to the young acolytes as he indicated the man with the handcart.  “Is that the gravedigger?  Or one of the cemetery groundskeepers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renauld looked at the man for a minute, watching as Arthur called out.  Turning back to Karl, “No, sir, I don't recognize him.  He certainly does not work here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael examined the crypt with suspicion.  “Very strange.  This tomb is completely neutral.  There is no sign of any worship or deity, which is odd, I mean, you'd really have to go out of your way to build a crypt without at least a statue of an angel or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  It's almost part of the architecture style, almost like this place wasn't really built to be a resting place for the dead at all.”  Michael drew his sword and walked forward, slashing at the lock to break it completely and knock it aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl winced at the loud clang of steel meeting the rusty lock.  “Well, so much for the stealthy approach.  Does anyone have a light?”  He pulled one of his javelins out of the harness on his back and tested the point for sharpness before flipping his grip so that he was ready to throw and then eased open the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa had felt strangely uneasy upon entering the restlands, something she didn’t notice the previous day at the funeral.  She nodded at Karl and pulled out a lantern, lighting it and then holding it up to the entrance.  A stone stairway descended below the ground nearly fifteen feet before coming to a flagstone floor.  Beyond that, the view became obscured due to the height of the doorway and the angle of the stairs.  Peering down the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder.  “Someone's been here.  I just hope those are the late Professor's footsteps in the dust.” Gripping her morningstar firmly in one hand, she holds up the lantern in the other as she takes a few tentative steps down the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded as Shanoa pointed out the prints in the dust.  “I’d have missed those.  Mind if I go in first?  Perhaps all hope of stealth is not lost.  Stay back, let me get on ahead.”  The half-elf moved lightly down the steps, trying to put some distance between himself and the others, trusting his sight to keep him alert to others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn't see them at all,” Oorin admitted, pulling out his crossbow and loading it.  Trying to hold back another large yawn, Oorin turned to Karl and Shanoa, “Do the prints go both down and up or just a single direction?  The latter would be highly suggestive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa froze and her blood ran cold at Oorin's comment.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever made these prints is still in here!</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Finding her voice, she said quietly, “Just one way - leading deeper into the crypt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still inside?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland looked back up at the gargoyle.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Professor, what have you gotten me into?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>The scholar gulped, his hands visibly shaking as he wiped some sweat from his brow, and went a bit pale.  “Well...” his voice squeaked, and he loudly cleared his throat.  He tried to smile to show some false courage and failed miserably.  Unthinking, he withdrew a vial of glowing blue serum from his pocket and clutched it in his left hand.  His right hand had a white knuckled grip on his cane.  “Shall we, uh, progress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent!” Oorin proclaimed cheerfully, “That means our intruder is still down there; maybe we can finally get some answers!” He paused for a moment and then said, “Imagine how disturbing it would have been if the prints only came up.” The gnome apparently found something amusing in this and began laughing.  He then noticed Roland looking at the gargoyles and analyzed the tomb for a few moments.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Certainly not how I would have designed it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The interior of the crypt continued ahead fifty feet before ending at a rough stone wall.  Magical torches set into the walls dimly illuminated the room with bluish-white light.  Four sarcophagi were arranged along the back wall.  The footsteps in the dust continued forward, apparently ending at a crumpled humanoid form on the floor near the fourth sarcophagus on the right side.  The form was clad in a dark robe or cloak and lay face down with its outstretched arm touching the side of the stone casket.  Two more crumpled forms rested near the rear wall on the left side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl called upstairs in a low voice.  “You all might want to come down here and have a look at this.  There are at least three of them, and they are not in good shape.”  He stayed where he was at the bottom of the stairs, unsure of what might have struck these people down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they passed the doorway and headed into the crypt, Roland glanced at the shattered lock and finally noticed that small amounts of acid had melted away part of the clasp.  This was a deliberate act, nothing natural could have caused this particular damage.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone burned through that lock.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn’t have time to linger on that thought and crept down the stairs with the others to glance at the bodies, noting the other two near the rear wall.  He crept toward the robed body near the crypt, half expecting it to spring to life at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have some skill with anatomy."  Trembling, he reached forward and touched the body - clearly a half-elven male, young, but not a child.  The body was cold to the touch, with massive lacerations across his chest and abdomen.  The outer edges of the wounds were dark blue in color, but not from bruising.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man was wearing a black outfit, complete with darkened metal pieces, soft black boots, and a black cloak.  He had two empty scabbards and several pouches around his belt.  A short sword and dagger lay nearby on the ground.  Despite the darkness, Roland could see green stains along the blades of both weapons in the dim magical light of the crypt.  Perhaps most unnerving were the thick stitches used to sew the half-elf's mouth together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Roland examined the body, he also noticed the forms on the back wall were not humanoid.  Whatever was back there had a large segmented body, hundreds of chitinous legs, and at least one set of serrated mandibles nearly two feet long.  Fortunately, it did not appear to be moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl replaced his javelin and drew his greatsword as he headed towards the crumpled forms near the rear wall on the left side.  “What is it, Roland?  How did he die?”  He estimated the creature on the back wall at twenty-five feet.  Large segmented body, hundreds of tiny chitinous legs, mandibles the size of his forearm.  A chill ran up his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland turned his head back to the others.  “Half-elven, by the looks of him.  Badly cut up.  I'd say from whatever that is," he points at the mandibled creatures in the corner.  “The wounds look...odd.  Maybe poison?  It’s hard to tell on a cursory examination.  Based on his state, I’d say he broke into this crypt and met his fate perhaps a fortnight ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin headed down the stairs, eager to see what Karl and Roland had found.  Grimly fascinated by the corpse’s face, he turned to Roland, “Can you think of a reason for sewing the mouth shut?  Spite and maliciousness perhaps, or a darker reason?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.  Well it looks like the sewing is older than the time of death.  This was done while the young man was still alive.”  He recalled the conversation with Arthur earlier, and his suspicion about the Professor's death.  “Mutilating his mouth might also make it difficult to use </span>
  <em>
    <span>Speak with Dead</span>
  </em>
  <span> magic.  If he was part of the cult the Professor was investigating, it’s possible they do this to themselves to ensure their silence, even beyond the grave.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Still... maybe there’s something more...wait...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland frowned, looking at the wounds.  “The stitches aren't taught, so he would still have been able to speak.  But he’s also done some damage to his larynx.  It's unlikely this man would have been able to do much other than speak in...” Roland turned to look back at Oorin and Karl, his face pale, “...in a whisper.  He is one of the cultists.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl gulped down, “But what of these creatures?  They look like centipedes, of a sort, but much too large.  Were they some sort of guardian?”  He moved closer to get a better look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin's eyes sparkled with excitement at Roland’s declaration.  “So, a member of the mysterious cult itself.  I guess ‘whispering’ isn't just part of a clever name, is it?” Oorin chuckled to himself.  “When we’re done here, I think we should take this body to the temple.  I imagine the Phasrasmans will be interested in this.”  Oorin then noticed Karl’s attention drawn to something else.  When he glimpsed at what Karl was looking at, he whipped up his crossbow but saw that he appeared to be in no immediate danger.  He instead started wandering around the rest of the crypt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, Arthur saw the muscles in the mysterious man’s cheek twitch a few times before he spoke, “Peace, neighbor.  I mean no disrespect to this fine man here.” He indicated Lorrimor’s grave with his hand.  “But since you’re here, I'm looking for someone who might be able to help me.  I have a delivery the Professor ordered, but with his passing, I am unsure where it should go.”  He indicated the back of the cart, which contains a large iron-bound chest.  “Do you know anybody who might be of assistance?  A family member or friend here in town?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say that it is for the Professor, then I will take charge of this matter.  Give the book to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looked at Arthur for a few seconds, then let his gaze wander over him.  His eyes widened and his face brightened as he met Arthur’s eyes again.  His mouth became a sly grin as he said, “Oh, you misunderstand me, sir.”  He pulled a keyring from his pocket, selected a large iron key, and opened the chest.  He reached very deep into the chest - much deeper than seems possible given the dimensions - and retrieved a long object wrapped in heavy cloth.  Turning back to Arthur, he unwrapped the package to produce a sheathed katana, “I didn’t say a book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, by Pharasma, just give it to him!” a gravelly voice called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looked back at his cart, “Shut your yapper, rock-for-brains!  You've got your job, I've got mine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gravelly voice replied, “And you’re terrible at it.  Give him the sword, we’ve got more deliveries to make!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man grimaced but held the katana out hilt first toward Arthur.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur stepped forward to the man and took the katana from him.  “This will slice your arm off if you don't handle it right.”  He took a gold coin and tossed it to the man.  “Your job is done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man narrowed his eyes and emitted a feral growl, “Watch your mouth, mortal...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A low chuckle interrupted him, “Easy my friend, I like him.  He should do fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The deep voice continued, “Keep your coin.  As payment for this service, tell your friends to come meet us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not easily daunted, the hooded priest declared, “Wait then and I shall summon them.  Where are the others?” Arthur called to Shanoa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just having started to take a step down into the crypt, Shanoa paused and turned back, “Inside, are you joining us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The man at the Professor's grave wants to meet you and the others.  He gave me this, says it’s from the Professor.” Arthur held the Katana high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa whistled down the stairs.  “Come up here for a moment - someone wants to talk to us!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, one moment please.”  Karl was still deep in thought looking at the crumpled forms on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting,” Oorin muttered off-handedly, motioning to the dead cultist, “there's magic here alright.  Both weapons and something inside the end sarcophagi on each side.”  Oorin went to the last sarcophagus on the left and looked down at it momentarily.  Placing his mighty thews against the lid, he attempted to open it.  Somewhat surprisingly, the lid easily slid open - apparently resting on sliders.  Expecting much more resistance, Oorin whacked his head on the side of the sarcophagus and let out a surprised yelp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl picked up the dagger and handed the shortsword to Roland, hilt first.  “Do you know how to use one of these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland smiled weakly.  “I'm afraid martial skills aren't my purview.  But I may be able to make use of the dagger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving to the opened coffin, Karl peered in.  Inside the sarcophagus is a burlap sack containing several large bulges.  The magical aura Oorin sensed was apparently inside or under the sack.  “Don’t touch it!  Something in there just moved!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rubbing his head, Oorin leaned back quickly at Karl's words.  Speaking a low incantation, a small flame burst forth in his hand.  The gnome brought his now burning hand slowly closer to the inside of the sarcophagus for a better look.  As Oorin's hand got closer to the bag, the movement inside began to thrash about violently.  It shuddered one last time and three severed hands skittered out and leap at them, long filthy claws stretching for their throats!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl shouted out in shock and horror, “Hands!  Oh, gods they’re moving!”  He dropped the dagger onto the ground and moved to attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael drew his blade and growled.  "Undead scum!  Have at you!"  Calling upon his power to destroy evil, he quickly sliced one of the hands in two as it flew toward Karl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland shrieked and immediately popped the lid on the blue vial to swig the contents.  He hunched over for the briefest of moments, then rose again a transformed man, standing with more confidence - in fact, he appeared to be as much as an inch taller in height.  His eyes shone yellow, muscles bulging, his veins glowing a faint blue.  Smiling, he taunted the attackers, “Come at me, filthy monsters!”  A hand tore a small gash in Roland's cheek and attempted to choke him, but was unable to find a grip, and he threw it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Startled for only a second, Oorin grabbed one of the severed hands with his burning hand.  The hand curled up as the fire burned its desiccated flesh, but it still continued to move.  Recovering from the damage, it attacked Oorin, clinging to the gnome’s flesh and making its way toward his throat!  Struggling, he managed to avoid the claw and it fell back to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing the screams and commotion, Shanoa rushed down the stairs and into the fray.  Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she saw the abominations and slammed her morningstar down upon the hand that attacked Oorin, smashing it into the stone floor.  The fingers thrashed around for a few seconds before ceasing movement.  Karl turned toward the hand thrown off by Roland and, swinging his massive greatsword at it, sliced the hand into several pieces that flew across the crypt and exploded into dust as they hit the wall.  Outside, Arthur heard the commotion and drew the Professor's Gift as he too entered the crypt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a chilling creak, the lid on the last sarcophagus on the right slid open as three more hands emerged.  Michael rushed over to the last sarcophagus and attacked one, using his powerful longsword to cut the creature down in Iomedae's name.  His attack obliterated the hand in holy fury, leaving nothing but a small smudge on the hard stone of the casket lid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland, a trickle of blue glowing blood running down his cheek, moved to attack one of the remaining hands.  He smashed his cane into the lid, narrowly missing a hand.  Oorin too tried to swat the nearest hand but missed as it nimbly leaped aside.  A hand leaped at Michael, drawing blood with its sharp claws.  Another slashed at Oorin, but failed to grab him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur finally joined the fray, bringing a gleaming katana with a green hilt down upon one of the hands, severing the fingers, and Shanoa managed to destroy the remains.  Karl moved forward and brought his sword around in a vicious chop, ending the final claw with a massive blow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland took a few moments to angrily stomp on one of the hands until it was nothing but a smear on the stone ground.  “Take that!  And that!  Not so animate now are you!  Hah!”  He then glared at it with yellow eyes, panting, the blue glowing fluid continuing to trickle from the cut on his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael walked over and touched Roland's arm gently.  “It’s over, my friend.  I do believe you need to remain calm.  You are not yourself.” Michael looked at him worriedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The paladin lays his hands upon you!  Strike him!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland turned on Michael, uncharacteristic anger in his face, cane raised, but hesitates.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait.  No, Michael is a friend.  Where did this anger come from?  Fool.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>The anger drained from Roland’s face, and he relaxed, shaking his head to clear it.  “Apologies, Michael.  Perhaps you are right.  This serum sometimes affects my judgement.  I should have warned you all.  The effects are temporary, and I'm fine now.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am fine, right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet, you aren’t.  Weakling.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland tried to compose himself but was clearly concerned by his outburst.  He wiped the fluid from his face with a kerchief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl looked around at the others, his eyes wild as he took deep breaths to calm himself down.  “Looks like we’re all full of surprises.  Arthur, where did you get that sword?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur flicked a bit of matter that was stuck to the sword and sheathed the katana with a flourish.  “Outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl was already distracted by a crack he noticed in the northern wall.  It appeared to lead into a subterranean cavern.  “Anyone up for a bit of caving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland looked wary.  “We should make sure we've found any other secrets this room might hold first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With these sliding lids the hands could easily have gotten out of the sarcophagi and, presumably, would have used this cave to leave.  But why?  And it still doesn't explain who or what killed this person,” Oorin said, indicating the corpse on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin reached into the coffins and picked up a single arrow from each.  He looked at them a moment before offering them to Shanoa.  “These have been enchanted in some way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa accepted the arrows.  “Sure, I can make use of these.  Uh, maybe we should speak with the man waiting for us outside before we venture further into the darkness?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group took a few moments to look around but determined there wasn’t anything else of interest in the tomb.  Aside from the ones which contained the hands, the other caskets were fake - solid blocks of stone that do not open.  They surmised that the half-elf was killed by the centipedes, while they were apparently killed by him.  It seemed that though his wounds were severe, the venom injected into him is ultimately what caused his demise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two acolytes peered into the tomb and called down, curious to find out what’s happening.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who is making all that ruckus?  Oh yes, the church acolytes.  And some else to see us?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oorin headed out of the crypt to bring the acolytes up to speed on what had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl handed the dagger to Roland.  “Here, I’m sure you can find a use for this.  Besides, I’d hate for you to be angry with me after seeing what you are like in battle!”  Karl gave Roland a friendly slap on the back after he cleaned and sheathed his greatsword.  He tested the balance of the shortsword for himself before sliding it under his belt, then methodically searched the corpse of the half-elf for anything of value.  “May whatever gods you held to accept you, half-blood.  Ours is a vale of tears,” he mumbled, then headed upstairs with the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland tucked the dagger into part of his heavy coat.  He hung back as the group made their way out of the tomb, waiting out the effects of his serum.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t wish to alarm the townsfolk.  It was foolish to use it in front of the others without warning.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why should I care what they think?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because I must work with them if I ever intend to avenge the Professor.  And I will avenge him.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>That last thought came with a rush of almost giddy anticipation, but didn’t last as he hunched over, his body twisting itself back into its normal form. He steadied his breathing, calming down, leaning against the cold wall.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>That episode was unusually strong - but I’ve never used the serum in a stressful situation before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around at the corpses littering the room and a chill ran down his spine as he realized he’s alone with them.  He turned and hurried up the stairs after others.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes.  Yes, the aggression was just stronger because of the stress.  I’m sure that's what it was.  I’ll just have to try and compensate for it when I prepare another sample...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking out with the rest of the group, Michael found himself next to the swanky-looking gnome.  He cleared his throat, searching for a conversation topic.  “So, uh, Oorin Can-of-Thigh-Sins, you’re some kind of wizard, right?  I mean, you look smart and you seem to know a little about magic, like with those arrows.  So, I was wondering if you could examine this special armor that the shopkeeper decided to-WAIT!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael stopped in his tracks and looked astounded.  “I totally forgot to mention this, but the shopkeeper who sold me that armor is some kind of witch!  She’s got this deck of cards, and used them to tell my future, and said I was a paladin!  Anyway, she said she was using something called ‘The Harrow Deck’, and I was thinking that maybe we could use it to get a clue about how the Professor died!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The acolytes, who had been speaking with Oorin, hurried into the tomb, assuring they wouldn’t touch anything.  As soon as they descended, and before anyone can respond to Michael, a voice grabbed their attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I’ve got the rest of the deliveries.” The man in the coveralls was leaning against his cart and seemed to be much closer than he was just a moment before.  He held out several items.  To Michael he presented a narrow longsword with a pommel in the shape of an eagle's head.  Shanoa received a morningstar with a bluish steel head, and Karl a whetstone embedded into a dark metal grip.  He gave Oorin an elegant green glass wand, sized appropriately for his hand, and finally gifted to Roland a thick tome covered in dark leather with a small brass clasp.  The group also got a bag full of several potions and scrolls, and the final item was a darkwood box holding four small iron and brass vials containing swirling green vapor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then clapped his hands, “Okay, time to move on, good luck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A deep voice stopped him as he turned, “Don't we have a message for them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man sighed and rolled his eyes.  “You know we're not supposed to tell them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other voice responded quickly, “I know, but I think we should, I guess that puts you between a </span>
  <em>
    <span>rock </span>
  </em>
  <span>and a hard place!” The voice began laughing so hard it started coughing.  After a moment, “That one never gets old!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man seemed unconvinced, “Yes, it does get old, and I don't want to break her rules again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to leave, tilting the cart up and leaning forward to push it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin looked at the wand in his hand with some confusion.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is certainly useful but, “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Excuse me, sir,” Oorin stopped the man before he could leave.  “Who are you and why are you giving us these things?  And what's this about a message?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The disembodied voice chuckled, “He asked, and you know what that means!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man stopped pushing the cart and his shoulders sagged, “You’re not meant to know, but if you ask, I am sworn to answer.  But you will not like it - such is the price of the question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned the cart down and looked back, his face somehow looking more leonine than human.  “I am Yiftal, Guardian of the White Gate, and devoted servant to the deity you know as Pharasma.  What you hold are gifts granted to you as the last request of the soul you knew as Petros Lorrimor.  He bartered for these gifts with a part of his very being, a high price as his eternal soul will never fully be at peace.  But he made the pact willingly and with full knowledge of the consequences, so he deemed it worthy of the sacrifice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The message for you was, ‘The whispers knew more than I realized, and though it may be too late for me, there may still be time to stop them.  I know not what they plan, but it bodes ill for Ustalav, and indeed all Golarion, if they succeed.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gravelly voice intoned, “Do not be dismayed, for if it were not Her will, we would not be speaking now.  Go with Pharasma's blessing, and may her fortune favor you in your journeys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland gasped when he heard this, nearly fumbling the tome he was given, and quickly made the sign of the spiral over his heart.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>What is happening here!?  Evil cults?  Divine messengers?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland looked down at the tome.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn you, Professor!  There was nothing worth that price!  You were a good man, and you deserve your rest!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He looked back up at the messenger.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps if we fulfill his final quest, his soul will know peace at last.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl was completely stunned and speechless by Yiftal’s revelations.  He stood, holding the whetstone loosely in his hands, his thoughts churning.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods above, just what have I gotten myself into?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>The young half-elf visibly steeled himself and held up a small, bone-white chit he found on the dead man in the crypt.  “Ah, Yiftal, sir, the whisperers you spoke of, is this their sign?  And these gifts?  Will the professor never know peace because we hold them?  Is there any way to grant him rest?  I would willingly give my gift back if that were the case.  It is a fine thing, but I would rather the professor were at peace.” As an afterthought, he added, “and what of the arrows and blades we found below, will they truly help us against the restless dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yiftal leaned forward to better see what he holds.  His nostrils flare noticeably, “Yes, that is their sign.  In some places, simply having it in your possession is asking for death.  Carry that with care.  The gifts are yours now, and what you do with them is up to you.  Leaving them here will not change his fate.  As for granting him final peace?  That is beyond me, but no way I know of will make him whole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other voice chimed in, “Indeed, he chose this way knowing the truth of his fate, hoping his sacrifice would aid you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yiftal then asked to see the items.  He looked them over for a moment, growling slightly as he examined the dagger and sword.  “These arrows bear weak magic, but they would be useful against lesser undead.  But these weapons have been in the service of evil.  They themselves are like the arrows, weak but useful, but they must be used for mighty deeds to wash the stink of their heinous crimes away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What my friend means is yes, but they won't be much help by themselves,” the other voice added with a hint of irony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yiftal’s form shifted and he once again resembled the human man as he first appeared.  He hefted the handles of his wagons and pushed the cart out of The Restlands, disappearing from view over a small hill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland stared after him.  “Pharasma herself watches over our quest.  The Professor must have been on the trail of something big indeed.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>For years I’ve never put much stock in the old teachings.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland made a mental note to pray for the first time in years that evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Oorin said after a moment, “that adds a bit of gravity to the situation, doesn't it?  While I’m curious about the substance in these brass vials I think we should explore the caves first.  I’d rather deal with any surprises before they have a chance to surprise us.  What do the rest of you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa was completely taken by surprise at the gifts, staring at her new weapon and wondering about the implications of the stranger’s explanation until Oorin speaks.  She turned and nodded, “I agree.  Let’s find out if there’s anything else down there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin looked back.  “I think the acolytes should bear the body back to the temple.  Perhaps the priests can discern something from his corpse that we cannot.”  The young men set about burning what was left of the crawling hands and giant centipedes before taking the body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the group investigated the cave at the back of the crypt.  Nearly twenty feet into this cave were the remains of several weapons, potions, and arrows, recently destroyed.  Of note, they see that many of the shattered arrows in the pile were identical to the two found in the sarcophagi.  They continued following the cave through twists and turns, across a small underground stream, until it exited in a small opening about a mile west of The Restlands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they emerged from the cave, Karl took a moment to rest and sharpened his greatsword with his new whetstone.  “What’ll we do next, friends?  I admit, I’m at a loss for where we should proceed.  Part of me wants to hare off to investigate the location of the professor's death, but might be prudent to get more information first.  Roland, Oorin,” he smiles at the man and the gnome, different in aspect, but both obviously quite intelligent, “you’re the smartest, right?  Maybe you two could find out more about these whisperers in the professor's books, or at that school, and the prison fire too.  I could go back to the barn and see if I can pick up the trail again.  Whadda y’all think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland looked back at the tome he carried under his arm.  He was itching to start flipping through and find what secrets the Professor left to him.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Patience.  There is important work to do, first.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I agree that we should be better informed before we go to the prison.  Oorin and I can certainly look through town records and see what we can come up with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alchemist glanced over at Michael, the single-minded paladin lingering behind the group, brooding.  “I never put much stock in soothsaying, but after today's revelations, I'm not certain what to believe.  There's no reason we might not also stop by the store again and see what insights this fortune teller may have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree that we should investigate the prison and the fire that occurred there before we actually venture to it.  At some point, someone should take the brass vials to the town alchemist and see if he can identify them.”  Oorin absentmindedly stroked his sideburns.  “I admit some curiosity about the Harrow readings myself.  While I’ve never met anyone who truly had the gift, there were many in the colleges at Katheer who swore by it.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shanoa watched Michael and Karl leave to investigate the tracks again, while Oorin and Roland set off towards the town hall.  Hurrying, she caught up with the acolytes and assisted them with returning the body to the Temple.  Upon arriving she found the priest and described the encounter in the false crypt.  “Sir, you’ll want to take a look at this body. I didn't know what else to do with it and felt it would be wise to consult you first.” Pointing to the features they found on him, she added in a low voice, “We think he might have been one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow had the man brought into a small room toward the rear of the Temple.  “Yes, my dear, he is most certainly one of them, though I have only heard of these – I’ve never seen them in person,” he said, pointing at the stitches in the mouth and on his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It may be possible to try and speak with his corpse, though I am certain it would fight against the spell.  If this is something you wish us to try, return tomorrow morning with five questions to ask.  I will cast the spell myself, giving us all the best chance to find out what it knows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, thanked the good Father, and took her leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland returned from his research at the town hall to Kendra’s.  He dropped his new book, satchel, heavy coat, and cane off in his room, and briefly considered either pouring over his new tome or starting work on another batch of serum, but his grumbling stomach changed his mind.  He headed downstairs in time for most of the others to arrive back at the house.  "Ah.  It’s been a long day, and it dawns on me that I've eaten little.  Perhaps some dinner is in order?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then cleared his throat.  “I’ve, ah, also found some information regarding the prison and some of it is, shall we say disturbing?  And a little too similar to certain events around town.”  He crossed his arms and frowned, trying to figure out exactly what to say next.  After a beat, he spoke again.  “Either the prison, and indeed the town itself, is haunted, or a very sick individual is re-enacting the crimes of the past.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach growled again, and he blushed.  “Ahem.  As grim a topic as it may be, perhaps we can discuss this further over that dinner I mentioned?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded at Roland's information.  “I’ll help Kendra throw something together.  By the way, I spoke with Father Grimburrow about the body we found.  He's going to attempt to speak with it tomorrow and invited us to be in attendance but wanted us to provide questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl informed the others of his activities as he tucked into the tasty supper.  “Well, I went back to those trails, followed them to a few different fields, but wasn't able to find much of anything of use.  The last field I checked, I think that man, Gibs, the one who tried to stop the professor’s funeral, you know?  I think it was his.  I saw him standing out by his barn, holding a shovel, for all the world, slack jawed and mesmerized.  Then he snapped out of it and went inside.  I tried to get a better look, but he spotted me and warned me off with his crossbow.  I tell y’all, I have half a mind to go back there tonight and find out just what he was digging up or burying.  He's not the only one with a shovel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl looked at the others expectantly.  “It’s going to be a dark night, I’d wager.  Hardly any moon or starlight to speak of.  Should be easy to move about unseen, but what I wouldn't give for a hooded lantern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between bites of food, Shanoa responded, “I expect they’ll have one at the general store, but they may have closed up shop already. I'd be happy to join you, as I'm curious as anyone, but I'm not so much one for sneaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra perked up, “One of those lanterns with a shade on it?  I think my father had one of those.” She rose from the table and hurried from the room.  She returned a few moments later with a hooded lantern in her hands, “Is this what you meant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl grinned at the stroke of good luck, looking for all the world like a small boy given a gift on his name day.  “That’s just the ticket, Ms. Kendra!  But,” a troubled look passed over his face.  “I don't suppose you’ve any lamp oil to go with it, or know where we could get some at this time of night?  I’d gladly pay you for it, an’ promise to bring the lantern back in one piece or, you, know, replace it if it’s too badly banged up.” The young half elf looked hopeful and turned to Shanoa, “With how dark it’ll be out there, it probably won’t take much in the way of sneaking as long as we keep quiet.  We'll travel light, no armor to speak of and hopefully be in and out before anyone's the wiser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra smiled, “Oil, you say?  Of course.  With a house this large, I’ve had more than enough to use before all of you arrived.  I’ll go fetch some from the pantry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland listened to Karl as the group ate.  After most were finishing their dinner, but before anyone could leave, he dipped his finger in his drink and drew a wet ‘V’ on the table.  “Someone in this town is in terrible danger.”  Now that he had everyone's attention he went on.  “Shortly before fire gutted Harrowstone Prison, five particularly notorious men of tremendous evil were delivered to its doorstep.  I suspect these five men may have been instrumental in the escape attempt that led to the fire, and the tragic loss of life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland cleared his throat.  “I also suspect it may be their spirits - or their legacy - that can account for some of the strangeness we've seen in town since our arrival.  Two of the villains I have learned little of, called Father Charlatan and The Piper of Illmarsh.  The other three, however," Roland stood and began pacing around the room.  “The Mosswater Marauder was a dwarf artisan who discovered his wife was being less than, ah, loyal to him.  He murdered her in a jealous rage, smashing her skull to bits with his hammer.  What was left of his sanity died with her, and in his delusion, he believed he could bring her back if he could just rebuild the skull.  Unable find the final blade-shaped piece, however, he resorted to murder to find a suitable replacement.  He killed 20 people before he was caught, moments before murdering the daughter of a visiting nobleman from Varno.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland stopped by the table and sipped his drink, then looked around the faces of the group before continuing.  “The next was called The Lopper.  A murderous lunatic who loved the element of surprise, he would pick a target, then hide out in the most unusual of places in waiting.  Sometimes, he’d wait for days with only a few supplies to keep him going, waiting for the right moment to strike.  When that moment came, he would leap from hiding, and savagely behead his victim...with a handaxe.”  As he said ‘handaxe’ Roland looked pointedly at Karl.  After a moment, he walked over and tapped the drying ‘V’ on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our final fiend is Professor Feramin, known as The Splatter Man.  Feramin was a well-known and published scholar in the field of Anthroponomastics - the study of personal names - at the Quartrefaux Archives of Caliphas.  Unfortunately, during his studies, Feramin began associating with evil beings, and soon became obsessed with how names could be used to control and terrify others.  His reputation in ruins and cast out from the halls of academia, he continued his research in secret.  It was during this time that he began murdering to study the effects of death on the names of the victims.  Every few days he would arrange for his victim to find a letter from their name written in blood.  Once he had spelled out the name, he would strike at his victim, killing them in a most gory fashion designed to appear like an accident.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He again tapped the ‘V’.  “So, I repeat.  Someone in this town is in terrible danger.”  Roland sat back down and sipped his drink again in the tense silence that followed his revelation.  “Harrowstone Prison has a history as a place haunted by the restless spirits of those who were slain in that tragic inferno.  This cult, the Whispering Way, may have done something to awaken the evil left behind by some of the most notorious killers ever to grace its walls.  That is what we are up against.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, rubbed his temples, and then looked to Oorin.  “It may be prudent for us to also learn all we can about Father Charlatan and The Piper of Illmarsh before we brave the prison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa considered this.  “It’s likely some local who knows the legend and is playing a tasteless, if at least harmless prank to stir up the old fears.  But if it’s a copycat who's targeted a living resident, she is indeed in danger.  Then, of course, there remains the possibility this is the work of some undead evil from the prison.  Can we risk talking to the sheriff about this?  Where else might we find out which woman in town has a name starting with a V?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl shook his head at Shanoa's statement.  “That Lopper sounds like whatever it was that tried to take my head on that barn.  That thing was no prank!  It meant to kill me, and almost gave me a broken neck for my trouble.  Sorcery or spirit, that thing meant me harm.” By the end, his voice was raised, although he lowered it immediately and had the good grace to look remorseful as he mumbled out an apology to Shanoa.  “Sorry, that thing still has me a bit worked up.  Anyway, if what we’ve learned about these Whisperers is true, raising dead spirits sounds like just their cup of tea, and who knows, maybe someone or many here in town are a part of it.  Ms. Kendra, you live here, what do you think of all of this, and do you know any woman here in town whose name starts with a V?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra had been sitting back this entire time, obviously overwhelmed with the revealed information.  She nodded slowly.  “What do I think?  Well, I don’t know.  There have always been stories about the haunted prison, but none of us really thought they were true.  I mean, there have been people going in there for years but none of them have ever found anything.  But now?  I don't know, things around here have changed in the past few weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gathered her hands into her lap, “As for people in town who have names starting with the letter ‘v’?  Well, there is Vrodish, you all saw him earlier at the statue.  He’s a deputy here in town, but you said woman, right?  And he’s a man.  Hmm.  Well, there is also Sarianna Vai, though it’s her last name that starts with a ‘v’, not her first.  She owns The Outward Inn, up on the square.  She’s the only one I know, but I'll keep thinking about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Shanoa responded, “Let’s go meet her tomorrow.  No reason to scare her – don’t want to start a panic, but it’d be a good idea to look around.  What about the dead cultist?  Can we ask him what they were doing at Harrowstone?  What else might he know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin cleared his throat a bit before speaking.  “To add to what Roland said, there is evidence that the prisoners had rioted and taken control of parts of the prison before the fire started.  Some evidence suggests that it was the Warden and a few guards who actually set the fire as a self-sacrificial means to prevent the prisoners from taking further control.” Oorin pauses, “There was also mention that the Warden's wife was present at this time though no reason as to why.  One would think that, if a riot were in process, getting her to safety would have been the warden's first concern.  It may be nothing more than coincidence; it was simply an oddity that I noted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin lowered his voice before continuing, “As for The Whispering Way, I was able to find out a few more tidbits there as well.  As we suspected, finding a stable formula for creating liches is high on their priority list but one of their most important goals is to find a way to free a being known as ‘The Whispering Tyrant’.  I’ve learned that this group will go out of its way to examine, and even experiment at places that are haunted in the hopes of gleaning such information.  Perhaps that’s what we stumbled across here: not something they’ve caused but something they're taking advantage of...that's just guesswork, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few last bits: the group's official symbol is, apparently, a gagged skull; something to look out for perhaps.  Also, the group keeps no written records.  Supposedly, the secrets of the group can </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> be passed on by whispering; speaking out loud or use of the written word doesn’t work.  How far that really extends is anybody's guess but it would explain how they've maintained such secrecy since before recorded history.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin sat back muttering to himself, “Hmmm, I think that’s it.  I do tend to ramble a bit sometimes.  Oh, yes!  The ‘Harrower’ is paying us a visit at the house tomorrow (I hope that isn’t an inconvenience, Miss Kendra) and if she truly has the gift, it could be valuable indeed.  Such magics aren’t well understood and can be virtually impossible to defend against.  Of course, you have to be able to understand what you've been told as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to Karl, “I wouldn't mind accompanying you tonight.  I can move very quietly when the situation demands it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would welcome your company Oorin, and your keen eyes and wits.”  Karl tapped his temple with a long index finger.  “Was it the dwarf, Mosswater, was he the one who only killed women?  I must have confused him with the Splatter Man.  Vrodish might be in danger, but will he believe us without proof?  That’s a problem for tomorrow, I guess.  What do you think, Oorin?  Should we wait a few hours until the rest of the town is likely asleep before we take our midnight stroll?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm, once the light fades, people will start to move inside their homes or head for the tavern paying little attention to any concerns but their own.  While the tavern is still noisy and people stumble home we'll attract less suspicion even if someone should happen to notice us.  Another hour, perhaps?”  Oorin yawns.  “It's just as well, I’m tired but I don't know why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s wait until the town's abed, Oorin.  Distracted eyes are well and good, but I’d rather have them firmly shut if we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they departed, Karl left his armor and most of his gear behind, taking only his knives, cestus, and shovel.  He donned a large, dark green, hooded greatcloak from his traveling clothes and moved quietly into the night.  Oorin and Shanoa followed Karl, doing their best to mimic his behavior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland politely bowed out of any evening excursions - obviously the idea of wandering in the dark didn’t appeal to him after the day’s ghostly revelations.  “I can also take the opportunity to begin brewing up something helpful.  I know a few mixtures that may be of great help to us in our investigation.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>And more serum.  I must have more serum.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After the others had gone, he awkwardly excused himself from Kendra, headed up to his makeshift lab, and closed the door.  He spent the next half-hour or so getting his equipment running and some chemicals bubbling.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Must be careful with this batch of serum.  Can’t have the same aggressive reaction as today.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>His eyes turned toward the book the Professor left him.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>But first.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He opened the book and began reading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three moved out into the dark night, cautiously heading south and across the small river.  Shanoa stumbled as her foot slipped on a submerged rock, but the splashing did not appear to attract any notice.  The rest of the trek was uneventful, and they reached the pile of firewood under the cover of darkness.  Karl opened the shroud of the lantern and a bright beam of light illuminated the large pile.  As the three looked over the wood, a few of the logs on the bottom seemed to grab their attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They noticed that the logs were not actually supporting any weight and slid out of the pile without disturbing any of the other wood.  Behind the logs they discovered a blood-stained war razor and a waterskin - from the dried crimson streaks on the waterskin, it was recently full of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl shuttered the lantern and crouched down near the logs.  His voice was low and hushed.  “That’s the same blood I tracked from the statue to the fields.  I’d stake my life on it.  Same color and consistency.  Should we take the razor and waterskin, or leave them here?  We don’t seem to have made many friends here, and I don’t want to be caught with these.  If they’re undisturbed, Gibs shouldn't know that he's been discovered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree, leave them here,” Oorin whispered.  “We're not even sure what the purpose of painting a bloody ‘V’ on a statue was for.  I think we need to find out more about this Gibs fellow and what other secrets he might have in his house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl carefully replaced the logs after checking to be sure that the war razor and water skin were back in their original positions, and that no other sign of tampering was evident.  He kept his voice low and hushed.  “I think that ‘V’ has something to do with the Splatter Man.  I saw the rough layout of Gibs’ house, but I don't know how we’ll get in short of breaking down the door.  I say let’s be off unless you have some way of getting in without waking him up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During their return, they saw a patrol of deputies approaching from the north.  Luckily, the light of their lanterns gave plenty of time to hide, and they passed by without noticing their position.  Karl grinned with barely suppressed mirth at Oorin and Shanoa as they handily avoided the town guard patrol.  It was after midnight when they returned to Kendra’s house.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Kendra woke the household around eight in the morning with breakfast hot and ready in her dining room.  She informed the rest that the sheriff left a message asking to meet with him at their convenience.  “It seems he wants to know if you found anything related to the bloody statue and the letter ‘V’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland looked a bit haggard, but his eyes told a story of exciting discovery.  As he nibbled some toast and sipped some coffee, he eagerly talked at length about the tome that was left to him, “...a very detailed essay, and it really made me reconsider how I approached my alchemical extraction process.  I never considered that my bottled formulae could be reworked to keep their potency like this!” He said with a full mouth and a swig from his mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing he added, almost as an afterthought, “Ah, yes, I almost forgot.  I’ve started work on some alchemical fire.  It’ll be a few days in setting, I'm afraid, but may be of use to us.  I may have overworked a second batch between my reading.  It...will need a bit more work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur spoke up from where he was brooding quietly in a corner, “Kendra, where can we know more about this Warden Lyvar Hawkran?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra thought for a moment, “Well sir, I believe the town hall would have information on his family, at least their names if nothing else.  More than that, well, Jorfa may have some information.  I’m sure you can find her at her forge, she’s always there from dawn to dusk.  She was working in Ravengro when the prison was active, so she might have even known him personally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you.  I will follow up on that.  Breakfast can wait.  I’ll be off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa quietly listened to the conversation around breakfast.  Something had her feeling uneasy and she poked at the food more than eating it.  Finally, she spoke up, “How much can we trust the Sheriff?  Do we share with him what we found last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should probably tell everyone else what we found, first.” Karl cleared his throat and explained to the others how he, Shanoa, and Oorin found the false logs in Gibs' woodpile and the bloody war razor and water skin hidden there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was the same blood as we found on the plaque at the base of that old warden's statue.  Probably came from whatever critter it was that was slaughtered in that field at the south-east of town.  Shanoa's got the right of it though.  How much do we tell this Sheriff, and how much do we keep to ourselves?  We haven’t gotten off to the best start with the local authorities.  Will they even believe us if we tell them to check out Gibs?  And what if they do, but he's already moved everything to somewhere else?”  The half-elf shook his head and pursed his lips in a small frown.  “Maybe this fortune-teller can give us some guidance.  But I think we should play this close to the vest until we've got our quarry at bay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orrin responded, “Unless we have hard evidence, I suggest we keep the Sheriff, and everyone else for that matter, well, perhaps not the Pharasman clergy, out of the loop entirely.  We have no idea how many agents of ‘The Way’ are in town nor who they might be.  Shanoa’s right to be cautious, I think.  The Professor lived here, and the town was against him.  I doubt we’ll get any more consideration than he did.  Probably less.”  Looking at Karl, “I’d like to visit the fortune-teller as well, the sooner the better.  If she has true skill her information could be invaluable.  And if she’s a fake, better to find out now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl cocked his head and looked quizzically at Oorin, “I thought you said last night that the fortune teller was coming to visit us here today.  I don't mind going to her, but if she's coming here, it saves us a trip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin blinked a few times in confusion at Karl's statement, “Oh, yes, so she is.  At dinner if I recall.  Er, no, lunch.  Yes, definitely lunch.” His voice sounded far from certain.  He sat quietly for a moment.  “Gorum's balls!” he swore, jumping up and almost falling over, “I haven't thought of a thing to ask her!  Oh, ah, begging your pardon Miss Kendra,” he finished, abashedly bowing to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra turned beet red, then erupted in laughter, “No pardon needed, I haven't laughed like that in some time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused and looked around at the group, “I don't mean to intrude, but I heard you mentioning the sheriff, and a couple of you wondering if you could trust him?  Well, I don’t know if it matters, but I know my father trusted him.  The sheriff would come over from time to time to visit with my father.  Dad always said he was a good man and that Ravengro was lucky to have him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After settling from her own bit of laughing, Shanoa nodded at Kendra, trying to keep her face serious again.  “Then...I think we should tell him what we found.  We need as many allies as we can find in this town.  Also, we still haven’t really decided what to ask the dead cultist. I suppose we can ask if they killed the...Kendra's father, and what they were doing at the prison.  Maybe ask if they awakened any undead there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra suddenly looked around, “That’s odd, I wonder where Michael is - I knocked on his door.”  She rose and excused herself, “I’ll go check on him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few moments passed before they were all startled by a horrible scream coming from the second floor.  Shanoa jumped up, knocking her plate and the table in the process, and ran up the stairs to find Kendra.  Karl too rushed after Kendra and Shanoa, dagger in hand.  He found Kendra in the hallway, eyes wide in horror and hands covering her mouth, staring inside one of the rooms.  Michael's bloody body lay motionless among the disheveled covers of his bed.  Glass shards covered the floor near a small broken window.  A faint song played along the breeze from somewhere outside the room.  A few more notes reached their ears before it ended in a mocking high-pitched trill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is that music?  Where is that flute coming from?  Ms. Kendra, what do you see?” Karl whispered before flattening himself against the wall.  He gripped his dagger, wishing for the comfortable weight of the greatsword and chainmail that were currently in his bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa rushed to the window, looking out briefly before turning to Michael and kneeling at his side by the bed.  She examined his wounds to see if she could determine a cause, and checked his pulse to determine that he was, in fact, dead.  Karl turned after looking briefly in the room, then rushed downstairs and outside to look for the slayer, where he almost ran over Oorin who had similar intentions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only surprising sight was a group of small flying creatures moving away from the house due south.  They quickly faded out of sight in the early morning haze.  Karl looked down at Oorin.  “Michael is dead!  Ms. Kendra found him upstairs.  I was outside the room, and I could swear I heard a flute playing.  Did you see those small creatures flying away?  I couldn’t get a good look at them from where I was.  This can’t be a coincidence.  Something is happening in this town, and we’re dead in the middle of it!  Where did Arthur go?  One minute we’re having breakfast, the next, he’s gone, and Michael is dead! I don't know what to think, I’m going back in there, this is all too much!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin paled and cursed in Gnomish.  “I didn't see or hear a thing.  It looks like we might have to start taking watches at night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl continued jabbering, clearly in shock from the macabre discovery, as he made his way back into the house and back upstairs.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Focus Karl!  Pull yourself together!  You’re no good to anyone like this.  Take a deep breath, and look with your eyes, damn it!</span>
  </em>
  <span>  The young ranger paused outside Michael's room and took several calming breaths before going back inside.  He reentered Michael’s room and looked very closely at the scene of the murder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now, Roland had joined Shanoa’s side by Michael’s body, and it was clear that nothing could be done to save the young paladin.  He looked at Shanoa, his face pale, and silently shook his head.  He pulled the blanket up over Michael's head and made the sign of Pharasma's spiral over his heart.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>If the Lady of Graves is indeed watching us, let her judge the lad fairly and see him off to his eternal reward.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>After a moment, he turned to Shanoa.  “I, uh...” He paused, finding himself at a loss for words.  “I’m not familiar with Iomedae's burial customs.  We should contact Father Grimburrow and see what can be arranged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa managed to find her voice.  “I’m familiar with the rites and could perform them if needed.  But you’re right, we'll need to talk to Grimburrow anyways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we should send for the Sheriff, this is a murder after all.”  Karl lifted the sheet over Michael and examined the body with a look of profound sadness.  “Puncture wounds, and of course, his blood, but really, there should be more, much more, almost like it was drained.  I think it could be…” He looked at Shanoa and Roland, “I saw a group of winged creatures flying away when I went outside.  Have you ever heard of stirges?  They fly, and are small, and drain blood.  They could have been what I saw.  Roland, I could swear I heard music before I came in.  A flute, to be specific.  Did any of the killers you researched play a flute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland wrung his hands.  “Nothing I discovered gave any details, but we do know that one of them was called the Piper of Illmarsh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stunned, Shanoa finally stood up and backed away from Michael's corpse.  “This could have been any of us.”  In the hallway, she found Kendra weeping and put her arms around her, sharing a moment of grief and leading her away from the sight.  Finally, she spoke, “Kendra, we'll take care of everything.  I’m sorry this had to happen here.  We'll be sure someone stays here with you while we make arrangements.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping away from her, she found the rest of the group.  “I’ll go to the temple and speak with the Father - I needed to talk to him anyway.  Someone should go fetch the Sheriff too.  Karl, I think he should know what we found last night in addition to what’s happened here - maybe you should go.  Meanwhile, I don’t think Kendra should be left alone.  Also, that fortune teller woman was going to come by, and someone needs to be here for her.  I can’t imagine </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was in the cards.  Michael was so excited...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re headed to the temple and Karl is going to get the Sheriff, I can stay behind.” Roland offered weakly.  He looked at Kendra.  “If that's okay with you, Miss Lorrimor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded at Shanoa and Roland's suggestions.  “Very well.  I’ll go speak to the sheriff, an’ take responsibility for trespassing on Gibs’ land.  I won’t mention that you or Oorin were there, Shanoa, but we Arthur, I have no idea where he is, or what he's gotten up to.  If he comes back, please try to keep him here.  If we all keep haring off on our own, well, Michael...” Karl fell silent, unwilling to speak the words in his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl went back to his room and offered up silent prayers on Michael's behalf to Iomedae and Pharasma as he donned his armor, strapped his daggers to his wrists, and pulled the Cestus over his right hand.  He looked at his greatsword and flail, then belted on the short sword that the dead tomb robber carried, hoping that it might look less threatening in the sheriff's eyes.  He left the rest of his belongings at the Lorrimor home and departed together with Shanoa, though they quickly parted ways as he made his way to the local constabulary she headed to the Temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra nodded weakly to Roland, then slowly walked toward the stairs leading to the first floor.  Roland accompanied Kendra downstairs, where they found Oorin waiting.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>The poor woman.  This must all be so overwhelming.  “</span>
  </em>
  <span>I'm...I'm very sorry this has all happened, Miss Lorrimor.” Roland says as they reach the living room.  “Is, ah, is there anything I can do?”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder how much she knew of the Professor's real work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra shook her head as she sat in the foyer, “No, I, what's going on?  Why did that happen to Michael?  In my father's house!  Why is this happening, Roland?  Why has everything gone mad in this town?”  She suddenly looked at him, a revelation clear in her eyes, “He was killed, wasn't he, Roland?  My father wasn’t in an accident, he was killed!  Who did it, Roland?  Who killed my father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Professor asked us to protect her.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. She's a grown woman.  She deserves the truth.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He looked at Oorin, then sighed deeply and gestured for Kendra to sit down.  “Perhaps it is best if you know what we have learned to date.  Miss Lorrimor, Kendra, what, ah, do you know of your father's work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked confused before answering in a halting voice, “What do you mean?  He visited ruins and examined old manuscripts for Leipidstadt University – their Religion &amp; Theology department.  I know he spoke a bunch of languages, and just look around…” She pointed at all the books lining the walls of the foyer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at Roland, then Oorin, then back, “What are you getting at, Roland?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father was indeed a scholar, but it seems he may have also been directing his research toward understanding and combating the forces of evil.”  Roland wrung his hands a bit, and paced, uncomfortable with the line of conversation.  “We believe some of those forces may have been responsible for his death.  And, indeed, may now be responsible for Michael's as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra looked up as Arthur entered the house, then back to Roland and Oorin, “What do you mean?  He was just a scholar, he wasn’t involved in any of that, it must have been a mistake!  That’s what happened, it must have been a mistake.  And, and I don’t know why, but my father could not have been part of that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur stood in the foyer beside a large crate, and the door opened to reveal Karl and Sheriff Caeler.  Kendra looked at Oorin, then turned toward the others.  "Sheriff Caeler!  Upstairs!  My father..." She put her face into her hands and began crying again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheriff Caeler walked over and placed his arm around her, “It's okay Kendra, I'm here now.  We'll figure this out together.”  He sat down beside Kendra, who seemed to calm down a bit, and looked at Karl, “Now, what did you want to tell me?  Given what I'm seeing here, it's probably best if we both hear everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin was the first to respond.  “Sheriff, perhaps it's best if you come upstairs and see for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could move, Karl interrupted.  “I've already told the Sheriff about Michael, Oorin.  He's come to hear about the rest.”  Karl exhaled slowly and wiped his face with his hand.  “Where to start?  It seems like ever since we got here, strange things have been happening.  First, there was that mob that tried to stop the professor's burial, and of course the strange circumstances of his death.  Then, when the statue was vandalized, I tracked the blood.  I tracked it to a field at the southeast corner of town.  We found a spot in that field where a small animal had been butchered.  Small, but big enough to paint a V on a statue, if you take my meaning.  When I climbed up onto a barn to have a better look, well, this man, ghost, thing... attacked me.  Understand me sheriff, one minute I was looking at the cupola and he wasn’t there.  The next moment he was.  He appeared </span>
  <em>
    <span>out of thin air</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Michael saw it, and Shanoa too, although she’s not here at the moment.  She went to see Father Grimburrow…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl trailed off for a moment, then resumed his tale.  “Anyway, this yellow eyed lunatic almost takes my head off with an axe!  And then nearly knocks me off the barn to boot.  I'm lucky my head’s still attached and my neck's not broken!”  Karl shook his head, “There’s more to tell, the crypt that Professor Lorrimor's notes lead us to, and what we found in Gibs’ woodpile last night.  You see, I lost the trail after that attack, but I went back the next day and followed it to Gibs’ field.  And I saw him there, standing in a daze, with a shovel.  When I went in for a closer look, he nearly shot me with a crossbow!  Well, I went back last night, and I looked in that woodpile.  And sheriff, when a man hides a waterskin that last held blood, and a war razor, and the blood is as close as you can get to what was on that statue of the old warden.  Well, you put it together.  There’s more too, but I can’t tell it as well.  Maybe Oorin can explain all this about the killers from the old prison.”  Karl fell silent, and looked around for something to drink, his throat dry after so much talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheriff Caeler held up a hand, “Wait a minute, Master Oorin, a moment before you continue.  You found a razor and a bloody waterskin blood behind Gibs’ barn?  I would have never suspected him!  He’s always been grumpy, more so since his son died, but I never thought he would do something like that.  I don't doubt your word, Karl, but I just can't believe he would so something like that – he’s a standoffish pain, but I've never known him to be cruel or malicious!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur looked at the Sheriff and Kendra, the way they’re sitting, and something clicked in his mind.  He leaned over to Karl and whispered, “I think the Sheriff can take care of this.  Come on, let’s leave them to sort this out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl seemed to notice the same thing.  “That sounds like a great idea.  Would you mind coming upstairs with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were a number of particularly savage criminals interred at the prison at the time of the fire.” He looked at Kendra, “but perhaps such details can wait for later."  Oorin looked around, “We need to make preparations for laying Michael to rest.  I confess I know only a little of his faith or the customs of this land regarding such things.”  Oorin excused himself and went upstairs to join the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they are upstairs, Karl led Arthur to his room where he gathered up the rest of his weapons and adventuring gear while they talked.  “What happened to you this morning?  Where did you go rushing off to?  Did you discover something new?  What was in that crate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was following up on a lead I discovered that the ‘V’ refers to the warden's wife.  I also found records pertaining to the criminals who died at the prison with the warden.  If there are ghosts in the prison, then studying these should give us an edge somehow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent work my friend!” Karl clapped Arthur on the back.  “If we must face these ghosts, we'll need every edge we can get.  But I thought the warden's wife was dead?  How can she be a target for this next killing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the wife is dead.  I think she died in the fire too.  Somehow, she is the key.  Anyways, we still have time to prepare, let’s read these records.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several minutes passed before the Sheriff came upstairs to see Michael's corpse.  He moved into the room and looked around, closely examining the wounds on Michael's body and the broken window.  Turning back to the group, “Karl, if what you told me about these stirges is true, it would definitely match up with what I'm seeing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back against the wall outside Michael's room, “And now that Kendra is calmer, why don't you fill me in on everything else you were going to tell me?  We’ve got a few minutes before she comes up here looking for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin cleared his throat.  He hated having to recite someone else's research when he’d barely had time to take it in himself.  He fumbled around for his notes for a minute before realizing that he didn’t take any.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearing his throat again he began to relate everything they know about the five criminals at Harrowstone, noting the similarity between The Mosswater Marauder and the Professor’s death, plus The Lopper and the attack on Karl at the barn.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>This had better be one open-minded Sheriff,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oorin couldn't help but think.  “Splatter Man's motif was to slowly spell out a chosen victim's name, letter by letter, in blood before savagely killing them.  Not to sound alarmist but if anyone in town has a name that begins with the letter ‘V’, well, it couldn't hurt to keep an extra eye on him or her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin sighed and shook his head.  “It would be easy to dismiss this as coincidence but that's three ‘coincidences’ right there.  If we knew more about the other two, I bet it would be five and that would be five too many.”  Oorin lapsed into silence feeling that, even if the Sheriff was inclined to believe them, it was a lot to take in at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded along as Oorin spoke, and as the gnome finished, he added, “One other thing Sheriff, when we found Michael, before I went outside and saw the stirges flying away, I heard something.  The rest of the group can tell you, I got the eyes and ears of my father's people, precious little else though.  But I heard a flute playing before I went into Michael's room.  I’d stake my life on it.  We don't know much of this Piper of Ilmarsh, excepting his name, but pipes and flutes are not that far apart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheriff Caeler listened intently as both Oorin and Karl explained what they had discovered.  He tapped a finger against his cheek, “So only Father Charlatan is unaccounted for in all these events?”  He stood up, “I have to admit, I’m not entirely convinced, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.  You proved yourself by finding that blood trail, not to mention your association with Professor Lorrimor.  I’m tempted to head over to Gibs’ house now to haul him off to jail, but with everything going on, I’m not sure that's the best course of action.  Given what you have discovered, what do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m reluctant to commit to any single course of action right now,” Oorin admitted.  “One of our companions is with the Pharasman faithful attempting to learn secrets from, uhm, a corpse.  I would very much like to know what she has learned before we make any hard plans.”  Oorin was silent for a moment before adding, “Also, I’ve arranged for a, ah, diviner of sorts to meet us here at lunch and see if that points us in any direction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe if we had eyes on Gibs, we could learn more.  I could try it myself, but if I’m seen, well, let’s just say that I’d rather not sprout any crossbow bolts in the near future.”  Karl furrowed his brow in thought.  “Arthur, didn't you say some of those files you brought were records from the jail?  Maybe there’s a clue in there.  I’m not much of a reader myself, but some of us,” he nodded at Oorin, “have lots of book learning.  That might be the place to look next, before we turn to spiritualism, that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sheriff thought for a few moments, “Well, I'm itching to do something, but I guess I can wait a bit to hear from your friend.  As for keeping an eye on Gibs, why don’t I do one better.  I heard about what happened at the graveyard.  I’ll go pay him a visit, talk to him a bit about keeping his nose clean, staying away from Ms. Lorrimor, that kind of thing.  After that, I’ll have the deputies make an extra loop on their patrol to pass by his house twice as often.  It's not great, but it's something I can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned and looked back at Michael, “As for his remains, if your friend doesn't ask somebody at the Temple to come collect him, I’ll make sure it happens as soon as possible.  If there is nothing else, I'll bid you all farewell and see myself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin watched the Sheriff leave, then began flipping again through the files that Arthur brought with him.  Roland had been quiet for the past little while, trying to take in everything that’s been discussed.  The prospect of study seemed to snap him out of his reverie.  “Ah, yes, Oorin, perhaps I, too, could be of some help with that.”  He dug into reading through the files as well, hoping to get through the stack before the Harrower arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur and Karl also sat down with the scholars to help reading.  “Uh, Oorin, I didn’t tell the Sheriff anything about the Whispering Way.  I’m not sure why, I just didn’t.  Do you think we should have said something about them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin chuckled a bit at Karl’s question.  “No, you may have noticed that I left them out of my recitation as well.  Though it seems unlikely that the Sheriff is one of them, anything is possible.  Besides, if the Sheriff starts making ‘official’ inquiries into the Way, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out that he learned of them through us.  I’m sure their agents already know we’re here, but they don’t know that we’re deliberately investigating them. The longer we can keep it that way the better, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin paused from his reading.  “I’m still not entirely sure what to ask the Harrower, assuming she’s not a fake, of course.  It’s like not having enough information to know what questions to ask.” He shook his head and got back to reading, muttering in Gnomish under his breath.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shanoa made her way to the temple, thoughts whirling through her head replacing any caution as she walked.  When she arrived, she sought out the priest.  “Father...” The emotions that had been welling up in her throat all came rushing out when she tried to use her voice and she found herself instantly sobbing as tears fell unbidden from her eyes.  Still, she tried to explain herself.  “Mi...Michael, our cu, cu, companion. He's dead!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow sighed and reached out to grasp her shoulder.  “Come child, let us retire to my office.”  He gently took her hand and led her toward the back of the large sanctuary.  “Please, I wish to offer a brief prayer for your friend.  Do you mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow voiced a short prayer asking Pharasma to look after Michael's soul.  Though brief, he made it seem deeper, more solemn, and she was somehow sure that it was heard.  After finishing, he sat in a chair across from Shanoa, “Now, tell me what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimburrow's reassuring voice and strong hand quickly calmed Shanoa, but she was still too upset to feel embarrassed for her loss of control.  She managed to tell what she knew of Michael's death with only a few faint quivers in her voice.  When she arrived at the present time, she added “We don't have much to pay for a funeral but would like to hold at least a small service for him.  It's funny - none of us knew him for more than a few days and yet he was already dear to us...it's also sobering to think that it could have happened to any of us.  Ms. Lorrimar herself is taking it especially hard, I think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyways, Michael was a holy man of Iomodae - if there’s no priest in town, I would be willing to perform the rite, as I’m familiar enough with his religion.  Of course, that is unless you would prefer to do it yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow listened intently, “Of course we can have a service, it’s the least we can do for one who risked his life serving my church, and I won’t hear any more talk of payment.  But first things first, may I send some of my acolytes to collect him?  I would prefer to get him back here as quickly as possible so he may be tended to appropriately.  And having him out of the house may make it easier on Ms. Lorrimor and the rest of Michael’s friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned in his chair and grabbed a small book off his desk, “As for who should conduct the service…” He flips through a few pages before tapping one with his index finger, “Ah, here it is.  Desul Veranto, Holy Sword of Light, High Priestess of Iomedae, just down the road in Ardis.  I will have her send somebody - while you or I could fill in, I’m old and she owes me a favor,” he said with a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back in his chair and closed the book in his lap.  “Now, what else can I help you with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  “Thank you, sir.  We’ll all be very grateful.  I also came about the...the cultist.  If your spell works, I think we should ask what they were doing at Harrowstone, if they killed Professor Lorrimar, and if they awakened the dead there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re ready, we can proceed.  I have prepared everything in a small building behind the temple.  If you don’t mind, I will also have a few acolytes attend as they should learn about such things, as well as be around to dispose of the body after we have finished.  I would not have the corpse of a heretic on our soil any longer than absolutely necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can ask four questions, but I will begin with the ones you suggested.  You can suggest a fourth question during the questioning if you prefer, we should have plenty of time to decide before the spell ends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  "I’m ready.  I don't have a fourth question - you're welcome to ask anything else at that point - unless his answers bring up new questions." She followed the priest and his acolytes to begin the ritual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The body had been cleaned, dressed in a simple wool robe, and placed on a table.  The stitches in the mouth were also removed.  The acolytes stood off to the side, while the old priest said, “Shanoa, I do not know how familiar you are with this spell, but I must warn you it may not work.  And even if it does, do not expect direct answers – the only solace we have is that it cannot lie.  It will try to lead us astray, or perhaps speak in riddles, but if it succumbs to my spell, it cannot lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow approached and stood over him, casting a spell in a low and mysterious voice.  Upon completion, the body shuddered slightly as the magic coursed through it.  The mouth slowly opened and closed, and the head woodenly turned toward the priest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimburrow nodded at Shanoa, then asked in a loud voice, “What were members of the Whispering Way doing at Harrowstone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mouth moved before a hoarse whisper escaped, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We trapped the trapper.  Governed the governor.  Jailed the jailor.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The priest continued, “Did a member of the Whispering Way kill Petros Lorrimor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The body’s head turned from side to side before the same whisper answered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“He killed himself.  The horror wasn't real, but he didn't know that.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimburrow asked, “Did the Whispering Way awaken undead inside Harrowstone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arms of the body twitched slightly, and the mouth moved several times before responding, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No, they were always awake.  But we did release them.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The old priest turned to Shanoa, “We have a few more minutes, do you have another question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was startled by a hoarse laugh coming from the corpse, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I have a question.  Do you expect to make it out of here alive?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The body rose up from the table, its head looking right at Father Grimburrow with glowing yellow eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa let out a small shriek as the corpse turned into something far more sinister.  Father Grimburrow started casting a spell, but the surprised look on his face revealed something had gone wrong as nothing happened.  One acolyte reached behind him and hefted a large candelabra in both hands.  He then held it like a spear and moved toward the creature, trying to get between it and the elderly priest.  The other acolyte attempted to cast a spell, only to see similar failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature twisted itself forward with a grotesque sound of cracking bone until its legs and feet were splayed outward behind and beneath it and its hands were on the table, causing it to resemble something like a crab.  “What’s wrong?  Magic not working quite right?” it asked in a mocking voice before leaping at Father Grimburrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elder priest managed to dodge the creature and it landed on all fours, quickly scuttling around to face the four.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa tried to regain her composure.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Calm yourself, you've dealt with undead before.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Acting quickly, she grabbed one of her flasks of holy water and threw it at the dead cultist.  The vial broke across the monster's chest and the acrid stench of burning flesh assaulted her senses.  The creature hissed and retreated a step, fixing its glare upon the priestess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimburrow pulled forth his holy symbol and bowed his head in prayer, but looked up a moment later, surprise on his face.  The acolyte with the candelabra approached and attempted to stab the creature, but the weight of the make-shift weapon caused the attack to go wide.  The other acolyte took after his friend and grabbed a heavy candlestick off the table, turning it over and moving toward the undead monster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still fixing her with its burning yellow eyes, the creature hissed, “You die next!” before turning toward Father Grimburrow and tackling the priest, slamming his head into the floor with its hands around his throat.  Grinning madly, the monster leaned down and bit into the priest's neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa screamed as she saw the elderly priest under attack.  “Nooo!” With rage in her eyes, she threw a second vial at the two struggling on the floor.  The flask missed its target, but water splashed onto the creature.  It raised its head in a howl of pain as its flesh sizzled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the blood flowing from his neck, the priest was still alive and conscious.  Grimburrow screamed as he struggled against the iron grip of the monster but was unable to break free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The acolyte with the candelabra spear yelled, “Father!” before attempting to stab the creature.  Failing yet again, he tossed it aside and ran out the door toward the Temple screaming, “Help, help!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other acolyte dropped his candlestick and attempted to grab the undead creature, only for the monster to kick him away.  With a choking sound, the acolyte grabbed his midsection where he was struck and began writhing around on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature looked at Shanoa with a wide grin, “I shall enjoy making you suffer!  But first,” it opened its mouth wide and again ripped into Father Grimburrow.  The priest’s screams cut off as the monster jammed its hand into the man’s mouth, twisting his head violently to the side as blood sprayed high into the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic began to set in as she saw Grimburrow dying in front of her.  With shaking hands, she threw her last vial of holy water, again missing her foe.  Despite the growl from the monster as the water splashed him, it did not release the priest and continued to bite him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburow continued to struggle despite his massive loss of blood, but his strength seemed to be fading as he failed to break out of the creature's grip.  The shouts of the first acolyte echoed across the courtyard as the other continued to thrash around on the floor, blood clearly seeping through his clothing beneath his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature opened its mouth wide and sat up to look at the priest with a horrible grin upon its face.  Keeping one hand on his head, it pulled its other back, forming its fingers into a single point.  “Now little man, I want your heart!”  The undead creature punched down fast, but instead of being killed by the blow, Father Grimburrow somehow managed to reach up and catch the monster's hand before it impaled his chest!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now, Shanoa was almost in tears.  “Get off of him!” she shrieked as she gripped her morningstar and swung it at the menace.  The monster ignored her attack, restrained as he was by the frail and dying priest.  Father Grimburrow continued to struggle with the creature and maintained his grip around the monster's wrist.  The acolyte meanwhile ceased struggling and lay unmoving on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The monster gnashed its teeth at the priest and strained to free from his grip.  It managed to pull free, but over balanced and leaned too far backward to attempt anything else for a few seconds.  Father Grimburrow remained underneath it, kept in place by its other hand on his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa grit her teeth and, taking advantage of the moment of unbalance, swung her morningstar with both hands, putting all her strength into it.  “I said GET OFF HIM!”  The monster recoiled in pain as the weapon crushed its shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thanks to the distraction, Father Grimburrow managed to push the monster off him. Putting one of his hands over his mangled neck, he scurried backward away from the beast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creature rolled over and stood up, leering at Shanoa, “You will pay for that, Rose!” It stepped toward her, moving to block her from escaping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa swung haphazardly at the creature as it stood up but failed to connect, then steadied herself.  “Be gone, fiend!” She brought her weapon once again down on it, catching the monster on the side of its head as it vainly attempted to dodge the blow.  Flesh ripped and crushed as its head separated from its body and flew across the room, smashing into the far wall with a meaty thud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Grimburrow tried to speak, but it came out as a bloody gargle.  He tried to move closer, made more difficult by the horrible wounds he had suffered.  Outside the room, many footsteps were loudly running toward them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa sighed heavily, then turned to Grimburrow.  Dropping her weapon she rushed to his side.  “Hold on!  We'll get you help.”  Then placing her hands on his wounds, she spoke softly, “Milani's grace pass through me to you.”  The healing spell instantly stopped his bleeding, and Grimburrow smiled weakly before passing out.  As soon as the wounds started to close, she ran to the wounded acolyte.  “Oh, please don't be dead.”  She again placed her hands on his body.  “Milani, please don't let this man die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few seconds later, a host of people came running into the room, spreading out between the older priest and the acolyte.  In a flurry of activity, prayers to Pharasma rang out and spells were chanted in solemn tones.  A man wearing chainmail and carrying a longsword greeted Shanoa with his fist over his heart, “Sir Loram, Captain of Scarabguard here in Ravengro.  Can you tell me what happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa stood up on shaky legs as the captain and others arrived.  “I’m Shanoa, priestess of Milani.  This...corpse,” pointing to what's left of it, “became animated and attacked the good Father Grimburrow and this acolyte here.  I managed to dispatch it, but not before it did him serious harm.” As the adrenaline started to fade, Shanoa felt at once weak and faint, dropping to her knee and trying to keep the room from spinning.  “Also, there was something strange.  Grimburrow is aged, but an accomplished cleric who should have been able to deal with undead such as this with ease.  Yet something prevented him from acting - I saw him try to cast spells to no effect.  I felt it too, though it’s gone now.  Perhaps he can tell you more when he wakes.  I'm only glad he didn’t fare worse.” She looked back at the other acolyte.  “Is he...will he be alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back at Father Grimburrow, “I’m no healer, but I think he'll make it, though he may be weak for a time.  That thing tore into him badly.  He’s lucky you were here, if that creature had a few more seconds, it would have killed him.  I guess we’re lucky it was just a dumb animated corpse and not one of the more powerful ones - those are terrible.  You may find this hard to believe, but some of them can actually speak to the living!” He made the holy sign of Pharasma across his chest, then furrowed his eyebrows in question, “I’m sorry, but you said the corpse became animated.  How did that happen exactly?  Usually, a spell must be cast upon a corpse for it to animate and become an undead creature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The corpse in question was previously a criminal, and we were using a spell to communicate with it.  I assure you, however, no other spell was cast that would have thus animated it - and I'll tell you, it was actually a vicious fiend, intelligent and talking, with a dark fire in its eyes. It took 3 vials of holy water like they were nothing, and only finally succumbed to a few good bashes from my morningstar,” she said, patting the handle of her weapon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sir Loram looked stunned as she described the monster’s details.  He turned to look at the creature’s remains, then back to her.  His face lost some blood and turned paler than before, “I don’t want to call you a liar, but what you are describing is impossible.  The spell used to speak with a corpse should not be able to be interrupted like that, it’s not how our prayers work.  And even if something happened to cause it, there is no way the creature should have been able to speak, much less act as if it were capable of independent thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put his hand to his forehead as if easing a pain.  Glancing back to her, he smiled briefly, “Apologies, I do not mean to imply you as anything but a hero for saving our beloved Father.  I believe your words; my confusion comes from the fact that everything you say should not be possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another man dressed in similar attire as Sir Loram came over and spoke in his ear.  The Captain nodded solemnly and clapped his comrade on the shoulder.  “Our young friend did not make it.  He sustained a wound to his belly that was too much for him to endure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shanoa, you have our thanks.  We are going to retire to the Temple to tend to Father Grimburrow and our deceased.  I will also have word sent to our various chapters across Ustalav with the information you provided to see if we can figure out exactly what you faced.  Please, walk with me and I will escort you to the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa felt a dark pang of guilt.  “That’s two deaths today, and I could have prevented this one.”  She got up and walked with the Captain away from the gruesome scene, trying to choke back the knot forming in her throat.  “Don't worry, I was just as surprised to see it with my own eyes.  I’m well studied on the subject and have never heard of any undead creature like that.  And now we have one more death on our hands - I'm terribly sorry I wasn't able to get to him in time - I wasn't able to tend to him while the monster was attacking Father Grimburrow.” As they reached the road, she turned.  “Please, when the good Father is recovered enough to take visitors, would you send for me?  I'm currently lodging at the Lorrimar’s residence.” With that, she nodded and walked back, her mind and heart heavy.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shanoa entered the house looking grim.  She turned to the men with her, “His body is upstairs.  Thank you again - it's...” she cleared her throat.  “Thank you.” She drew close to where the group is studying over the files and spoke in a low voice.  “I have dire news.  We spoke with the deceased cultist and unlocked some secrets.  The Whispering Way indeed were up to foul deeds at Harrowstone and released the undead that had been lurking there.  What's strange is that Grimburrow said that they had searched the prison after the fire and found no trace of undead, but I was unable to ask him about that - the corpse sprung to life and attacked us, killing one of the acolytes and badly wounding Father Grimburrow before I was able to defeat it. He's alive but it may be some time before I can speak with him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, I know what happened to Professor Lorrimar: he died of fright.  It's possible there was some illusion magic at play, and I don't know if it was caused directly by the cultists but based on the experience Karl had already, I'd say anything's possible.  If we do visit Harrowstone, we must be prepared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland's jaw dropped and he paled slightly.  Oorin was visibly startled.  “Wait, you were able to talk to the corpse and then it animated and attacked you?  I can't recall ever hearing of such a thing.  Necromancy isn't really my strong point and I can't think of a spell that would duplicate the effect you've mentioned.  It's almost as if the corpse was </span>
  <em>
    <span>possessed</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  “We were only using a simple spell to communicate with the deceased, not animate it.  There's no reason it should have behaved in that way - and you're right, it almost was like it was possessed - it could speak and everything.  Maybe by one of the spirits that was released from the prison?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at the vast collection of books and notes that cover the house, Oorin mused, “I suppose another look through the Professor's journals couldn't hurt.”  Turning to Karl, “So the Professor died of fright.  Perhaps that was the intent of the apparition, presumably in the guise of The Lopper, at the barn.  One of the townsfolk would certainly have fallen off the barn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded.  “That might be a good question for this fortune-teller.  While you were battling the undead, we brought the Sheriff up to speed on our activities about town, but we didn't tell him about the false crypt, or the whispers.  Also, Arthur and I are fairly certain that the Sheriff and Ms. Kendra are romantically involved. We might have to watch what we say around her from now on, just to be safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmmm, perhaps there is powerful magic at work?  Or could a spirit from the prison indeed have possessed the body while on Pharasma's sanctified ground?  Curious.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “It seems, for the time being, that the only people we can trust implicitly are each other.”  Roland yawned.  “Goodness, I spent most of the night in study, and with this morning's...” He trailed off.  “I don't know about everyone else, but I'm already exhausted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The acolytes removed Michael's body from the house, informed Shanoa that he would be prepared for burial at the Temple, and they would let her know when everything was ready.  They also assured her someone would contact her as soon as Father Grimburrow is feeling better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noon approached and Kendra had recovered enough to provide lunch for everyone.  Meats, cheeses, and a variety of root vegetables from her cellar were placed on the table for all to enjoy.  While she had recovered somewhat from her ordeal earlier in the day, it was obvious to all that she was still struggling a bit, but made an effort to smile and be a good hostess nonetheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As lunch ended, a knock on the door drew everyone's attention.  For some, the knock sounded ominous, for others, it seemed like a chill breeze blew through the house.  Others just knew that ‘something’ was happening.  Marta entered wearing a deep blue robe tied at the waist with a thick red cord.  She grinned as she saw the empty dishes on the table, “I see I arrived precisely on time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at the group, the smile faded from her face, “I will provide a Harrowing for any who so desire it.  The petitioner must ask me a question, and I will use the cards to provide an answer.  The answers may be direct and specific, or obscure and unintelligible, but they are all true.  And make no mistake, I do not direct your fate, I only provide a window into what has past, what is now, and what shall be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved toward the table as the plates were cleared.  Sitting at an open seat, she pulled forth a large deck of cards that she divided into six stacks in front of her.  “Who is first?  Who has a question for the Harrower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur spoke from behind his hooded helm.  Simple in his approach to problems, his usual answer was rooted in violence.  “I will ask first: where can we find the weapons needed to defeat the ghosts of the haunted prison?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta listened to Arthur's question and repeated it softly, “Where can we find the weapons to defeat the ghosts of the haunted prison?”  She looked at the stacks of cards in front of her, considering each.  After several seconds, she selected two and placed them before her.  She repeated the question again, “Where can we find the weapons to defeat the ghosts of the haunted prison?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta chose one of the decks, pushing the other to the side, and began laying the cards face up on the table, three across, in three rows.  With little preamble, she turned them over starting in the upper left corner and moving across, “The Vision, The Idiot, The Inquisitor”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving down to the second row, she continued, “The Hidden Truth, The Rakshasa, The Joke”.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She peered at the last row for several seconds before turning them over.  “The Wanderer, The Foreign Trader…” Her voice caught and she audibly swallowed before turning the last card.  In a trembling voice, “The Snakebite”.  She quickly pulled her hand back from the card as soon as it turned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta took a few deep breaths before speaking again, “My apologies, it is always trying when the strongest card is one of malice and woe… but we will discuss that soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved her hand down the first row, “None of these cards are in positions of strength, so they may reveal answers dealing with your question, or with yourself. The cards speak of a past that contains some arcane or esoteric knowledge.  This knowledge, or one who possessed it, discovered something; something that others had overlooked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving to the second row, “Likewise, these cards are in weak positions, especially The Idiot.  They reveal current events and may speak about you or your question.  They show folly, greed, or poor decisions resulting in the domination of mind and body.  But the domination itself is weak – lacking somehow.  There is also the sign of spies or intelligence.  Perhaps the dominated seek information?  Or they have information to give?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grumbled to herself before speaking again, “Now the final column.  The Snakebite is the strongest card in this reading, as is in fact the only card in a strength position.  That means it is even more important in this reading.  By itself, it represents poison, venom, or discord within an evil mind or intelligence.  Since it is a strong position, the cards are responding directly to your inquiry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is nothing you want for in order to face your foes, signified by the unyielding influence of The Inquisitor card.  There is nothing else for you to discover in this regard.  They are powerful, yes, but they are also subject to what they are – but not their existence as ghosts.  The Joke indicates that they must be defeated by using who they were and what they did in life.  Finally, The Snakebite.  In this way, it means that there is poison and discord among the ghosts of Harrowstone.  Though this card is an evil representation, the poison and discord that exists is in the evil you face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed as she finished her reading.  “That is all there is, please accept my blessing along with my reading.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta gathered up her cards and retrieved the other decks, placing the six stacks before her on the table again.  “Who is next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl asked his question next, “Would finding the Whispering Way in Ravengro aid us in laying the Harrowstone ghosts to rest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta regarded Karl as he speaks, then looked down at her cards.  She selected one stack, pushed it forward, then removed the others.  She closed her eyes and laid out the cards, forming a perfect three by three square on the table.  Her eyes opened as she examined the Harrow deal.  She moved her hand over the cards, pausing over three of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A strong reading, three cards in their positions, what is called an ‘Open Triangle’.  It means you should expect significant growth and change from your past to your future.  The path you think you follow today may be entirely different tomorrow.  To the cards.”  She pointed at the first row, “The Owl, The Eclipse, The Publican.  In this position, The Publican is strong, indicating the image of the Cyclops on the card is important.  The second row shows The Queen Mother, The Carnival, and The Midwife.  In this row, The Queen Mother is in its strongest position, indicating knowledge.”  Marta pointed toward the third row, “The Mute Hag, The Winged Serpent, and in its strong position, The Lost.  In this position, The Lost means those who are in a place for those who are lost – an asylum.  Though The Lost is a terrible card in its position, its evil is offset by the good inherent on the top row in The Publican.”  She continued, “Since the first row has a card in a strong position, it is relevant to your question.  In the harsh order of nature, some knowledge allowed an evil to arise.  This evil knew things, allowing it to make pacts of blood and promises of flesh.  But this was in the past, giving you a vision of what came before.”  Marta moved her hand to the middle row.  “This row contains cards in weaker positions, so the reading may apply to your question, or to you.  What it shows is doubt about an outcome, there are false images, something you are currently searching for, something you seek, there are false trails among the towers or city.”  She moved to the last row and her hands began moving faster than before, her excitement becoming obvious as she spoke in a quicker staccato, “Two cards in strong positions, The Publican above, and The Lost below – this is a powerful reading.  There is someone, represented by the Cyclops image on the Publican card, who is insignificant, or an afterthought.  But that person is relevant to your question, they must be identified for you to succeed.  This person will enable the creation, or provide information about how to create an asylum, or something related to those in an asylum.”  She paused over the cards before gathering them up, “There is nothing more to say, please accept my blessing with this reading.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta smiled as Shanoa asked her question, “What is my destiny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Harrower responded, “A tough question, as only you can truly determine your destiny.  I will try to answer, but I can usually reveal some important steps to guide you along the way.”  Marta separated one of the decks from the others and flipped them into the now familiar square.  “Hmm, an interesting reading as there are elements of good and evil in each row, meaning that all columns are applicable to your question.  You also have a strong card in The Marriage.  It has many meanings, and they are especially insightful in its home position.  It’s most applicable meaning in this case is that of a union, but not just any joining, it speaks of a union between two disparate entities.  A salamander and water nymph, for example.”  She looked up at Shanoa, her eyes widening slightly, “I see.  It could also speak of a union between divinity and mortality, yes?  That is what the first column shows – an agent of the gods with the potential for both good and ill.  This agent has struggled against many things, misunderstandings, and sometimes violence.  And one who must constantly battle against giving in to extreme emotions.  Does that sound familiar?”  Smiling gently, she moved on, “Your destiny is currently facing a crossroads, and you are being assailed by selfish ghosts of the past.  They are envious of your life – literally, they hold much anger toward you just because you are alive, and they are not.  While facing these ghosts, you may encounter situations that cause indecision, but hold fast to your beliefs, and you will not only survive, but thrive from the conflict.  Finally, the last column, and likely the one most closely related to your question.  The Courtesan indicates nobility and political intrigue, but these are facades – they are simply for show.  The reality beneath the mask is a lord who seeks to destroy those whom he rules.  As you begin to unravel this tangled web, you will be offered unexpected generosity from a strange source, and you must not turn the Unicorn’s help away when it is offered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta retrieved her cards, shuffled them again, and laid out the six stacks once more.  Oorin chimed in, “I'm opposed by the dead who walk and evil ones who have knowledge and arcane power that stretch back through the millennia; what is my best course of action to fight this threat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She peered at the six stacks before her for a few moments.  “You pose an interesting question.  Is it strength of arm, the power of the mind, or something else that should drive you?  Perhaps the answer is all of them?”  Marta grinned suddenly, “Ah, I know,” she quickly selected one of the decks and laid out three in a row, “The Survivor, The Teamster, The Desert.”  She moves to the second row, “The Trumpet, The Mountain Man, The Waxworks.” she said with a slight tremor in her voice as she laid down the last card.  Pausing slightly, she lingered on it for an uncomfortable moment before moving on.  Without comment, she placed the last three in order.  She passed her hand over the cards, studying them intently.  Marta looks at Oorin gravely, “This is the most powerful, and therefore the most pertinent, reading I’ve presented so far.  There is a card in a strong position in each of the columns, and therefore everything I say is either directly relevant to either you or your opponents.  Take this first column, since the strong card is The Tangled Briar, an evil card, it’s meaning is clear.  Your opponent is a figure or creature from history.  That is to say, it was significant at some time in the past.  It put itself into danger, and though many thought it destroyed, managed to survive.  The second row is likewise strong in evil.”  She pointed at the bottom card in the middle, “The Sickness represents everything that could harm a person’s body; corruption, plague, famine, disease.  Your enemy has either suffered these, or caused these, to happen.  These have caused other, secondary results, unforeseen by the original creator, resulting in a physical power beyond its ability to control.  In this last row, it is the card representing good that occupies the position of strength.  You will face an environment that is impossible to survive without help.  It will be a forgotten place of torture and unbelievable pain.  It is in this place where you must become a creature of fire.”  She pulled the cards back and looked expectantly at Roland while laying the cards on the table before her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scholar watched Marta shuffling her cards before speaking.  Finally, he said, “I had never put much stock into the old Pharasman teachings, but due to recent events, I am forced to re-evaluate old superstitions, including those surrounding prophecy.  As such, I am curious - what does the future hold for my companions and I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta smiled, “Similar to the others, but different enough to warrant another reading.  For you, these cards shall provide your answer.” She moved one set to the front while moving the others to her right.  She laid the cards down quickly, her eyes never leaving Roland.  When she looked down, she began identifying the cards, “Apparently the powers heard your question – the strongest card in this reading is The Juggler representing those who play with the fate of others.  You have another card that bears mentioning, The Rabbit Prince.  It is a strange card that reveals the capriciousness of battle.  It recognizes the place that chance has in outcomes, and that one may win or lose a fight by either skill or luck.  But for your reading, the cards’ revelation is such that the first column only contains information about your past.  What we see is The Locksmith working over The Peacock while attending The Dance.  This means that you have spent time unlocking the puzzle of your life, discovering beauty or power in the process.  It also shows that you determined that through these discoveries, you have come to learn that some level of cooperation works best in your life, complicated though it may be at times.  The second column tells of travelers who came to a place planning to do violence.  But their acts were not expected.  They used traps or tricks to take something dearly loved by force.  And though they did not commit murder to achieve their goals, they did kill before continuing on their journey.  Now for the last column, the strongest in your Harrow reading.  It shows destiny, the destiny of you and your friends, not yet written.  There are several outcomes, and while some are more likely than others, they all contain one similar aspect: your destiny is to oppose a disaster that will result in the destruction of everything we hold dear.  But have faith, for much like a fight with a skilled opponent, you too can prepare – you will encounter many obstacles on your path forward, but all of these are placed before you to hone your edge, to train both your bodies and minds, for the confrontation which is to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled as she finished.  Gathering up her cards and placing them in a beaded bag, she bid farewell, “I hope my words have given you the insight you desired, and I pray that you find the fate you seek. Have a blessed day.” She bowed low and saw herself out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group sat in quiet contemplation at what the harrower revealed, and after several minutes, a knock sounded at the front door.  With a puzzled look around the room, Kendra moved to open the door, only to find Marta standing there.  She greeted everyone and said, “Well, I see I arrived a bit late for your readings, my apologies.  Who is first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland frowned, confused.  “You, ah, completed our readings but a moment ago.  You only just walked out the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin's eyes narrowed.  “Marta, you didn't, by any chance, happen to see someone leave the house just a few moments ago did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta looked at them and smiled, “Come now friends, having fun with me and all.  I'm only a few minutes late...”  Her face paled as she looked at the clock, “What is wrong with that clock? I left my store at eleven forty-five, but that says one fifteen!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland's frown deepened as he saw her confusion, and her odd demeanor.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>What sorcery is THIS now?  “</span>
  </em>
  <span>You've been here for the past hour... you have no memory of this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come now Marta, no jokes.  After you nearly scared me to death with that talk of Publicans and Cyclops, Mute Hags, and a Lost asylum.  It's not funny, and it doesn't lend any credence to your cards or tea readings.  Or is it money you've come for?  We won't be swindled if that's what you have in mind.”  Karl looked suspiciously at the fortune-teller.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta seemed distraught, “What?  No, I just left my house a few minutes ago.  I, I walked right here, except...”  Her eyes widened in sudden recognition, “Oh, no, it couldn't be!”  She screamed and flung the door open, running out of the house!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur and Karl instantly rushed out the door behind her.  Karl grinned at Arthur, “Nothing like rushing headlong into danger, eh?” Shanoa ran out following Karl, completely bewildered.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why isn't anything ever simple around here?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oorin dashed off as well.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>What a sight this must be…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland watched everyone sprint out of the house, mouth agape.  “Wha... where is everyone going!?”  He turned and looked dumbfounded at Kendra.  “What was that about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kendra turned to Roland, “I have no idea what's going on.  Marta was here, gave everyone a reading, then she left.  Then she came back, acted like she didn't remember anything, and ran off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, “Things are happening around here, Roland, and I'm getting a bad feeling.  Ravengro was always a nice town, full of friendly, hard-working people.  Now, I don't know, everyone is so mean, the...people dying.  Things are </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span> here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's that prison.” Roland looked out the window, frowning.  “Whatever this cult was doing, it's clearly awoken something evil that's been hidden deep inside.  And now it's loose in the town.”  Roland shook his head.  “It pains me to say, but I believe the answers to our questions, and the solution to the problems in the town lie there.  And it seems inevitable that we'll need to go there.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>And without the Professor, or Michael.  What chance do we really stand against such concentrated malice?  “</span>
  </em>
  <span>I should see where the others have gotten to.  Excuse me.”  Roland grabbed his coat and cane and headed down the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta jogged down the street ahead, but she finally stopped near a large tree.  As they arrived, they found her staring down at the ground.  At her feet lay the body of a small brown and white bird.  Marta was sobbing while staring at the bird, entirely oblivious to anything else that's occurring around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa caught up to Marta, and seeing her current state tentatively put her arm around the woman.  “Marta, it's alright.  Strange things are happening around town, and we're all on edge.” She paused for a moment as she recognized what Marta was staring at.  “You've found a Whippoorwill - what's it doing here this time of year?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta stammered as she spoke, “She sent the bird as a sign and used my abilities - the Lady of Graves, Pharasma, she who guides prophecy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa looked at the woman, then the bird.  “Marta, whether by your own hand or those of the gods, you've given us valuable knowledge.  Something big is happening that might have the whole town or more involved.  If Pharasma herself deemed that it was important enough that we get that information, perhaps there was just no other way.  Either way, what you've told us may save lives.  You've done a great thing, and I thank you for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta looked at Shanoa with a crazed gleam in her eye, “No!  No, no, no.  You don't understand.  The Gods don't speak through the Harrow deck, it doesn't happen!  It's never happened.  The Harrow deck is different, it's not of the divine spirit.  Something must have…yes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started looking at each of their faces, scrutinizing them for something.  After not finding what she sought, she began looking each of them over, then quickly walking around each one, straining to capture every minute detail of their appearance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of you worship the Lady!  But that doesn't make any sense.  It would only happen for one of her champions!  Have any of you ever served in a Temple?  Or fought under the Lady's banner?  Perhaps did some great service for her?  There has to be some reason she interfered!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa looked concerned.  “While that might be true, we all still respect her, and I believe Roland served her in his youth.  And even if the gods don't speak through the harrow deck, that doesn't stop them from speaking through you.” She paused for a moment, as memories of the past few days flew through her head.  “Just this morning I saved Father Grimburrow's life, which may account for something.  But beyond that, Pharasma loathes the undead - and there have been several such sightings and other mysterious happenings around town lately.  If there's danger from a great undead menace, as your readings seemed to imply, wouldn't the Lady act to counter that in any way she can?  Even if those available aren't her priests?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The not particularly pious Oorin didn’t really understand why the woman was so upset.  “Marta, if it comforts you any, the gods didn't really speak through the Harrow deck, they spoke through </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  From what I understand, the reading was no different than any Varisian Harrower might have given.  Why Pharasma, or some agent of hers, possessed you to do it I confess I have not the slightest idea.  As for the whole ‘champion’ thing, well, I don't know about that either.  Outside of her clergy, I've never heard of anyone being a champion to The Lady of the Graves.”  Oorin stayed silent for a while but couldn't keep his curiosity in check, "I'm sorry, the bird seems arrayed in an unusual fashion; is there some significance to that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland arrived just as Oorin finished speaking.  “Significance to what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marta continued to become even more agitated, and replied, “It's her sign, don't you understand?  A dead whippoorwill is one of her symbols!”  Her eyes started to widen, “None of you understand!  I need to stop the visions; I must get home!” Marta turned away and began running north toward town, heading directly for her store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marta, please stop!” Shanoa sighed and whispered a few words of incantation.  Marta ceased to run and simply stood in the middle of the road, looking dazed.  Running up to catch up with the woman, Shanoa placed herself in front of her.  As soon as Marta came to, she continued.  “Marta, please calm down.  This is a good thing that's happened, and you've helped enormously to guide us on a path to help you and everyone else in this town.  The Lady of Graves is not evil - she would not have done this great thing for us were it not so important to the lives of everyone here and to the natural flow of nature.  Now come with us back to the house - we'll all sit down together, have some lunch, and can talk about what has happened rationally and calmly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don't understand, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> happens.  The Gods don't interfere with Harrow readings.  For this to have occurred means a major disaster is coming, and you people are all in the middle of it.  The best thing for me to do is to get as far away from you as possible!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded gravely.  “Ok, I won't stop you.  I don't deny that there may be a great disaster coming, but we're going to do everything in our power to stop it, and I still thank you for your role in helping.  Please go with the grace of the gods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Marta ran off again, Oorin muttered with exasperation, “No actually, I don't understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl stepped up next to Shanoa.  “This just keeps getting better and better, eh?  At this rate, the entire town will be unwilling to walk down the same street as us.  And frankly, all she's given me is more questions.  I don't like it, but I think we're going to have to explore the prison.  Still, we haven't talked to the professor's old associate, the apothecary yet, at least, not about the professor, have we?  Maybe we should make that our last stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  “Let's stick together for this one.  I can't tell you how much I wished you were with me at the Temple this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded, then turned to Roland.  “Apparently, the dead bird signifies that we are now champions of Pharasma.  Not that she asked or anything, but considering that the professor gave his soul to arm us, we'd best get to work I suppose” He favored Shanoa with a quick grin before looking away even quicker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin perked up at the explanation, “So the gods (or a god) felt the need to speak to us directly regarding an unavoidable major disaster?  That's </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>!  I need to write down everything she said!” Oorin raced back to the house to grab pen and ink and began excitedly writing down everything from the Harrowing to the best of his remembrance, constantly pestering Kendra when his own memory failed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland watched the gnome go.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>And now we're champions of Pharasma?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He rubbed his eyes.  It had already been a very long day.  “I'd be interested in accompanying you to the apothecary.  I could use some more supplies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let's be off then.  Hopefully we can get a good night's sleep tonight and approach Harrowstone in the light of the new day.”  Karl paused for a moment, “Roland, do you still have those tools you used to try to open the locked book?  I'd like to acquire some of my own, but I'm not sure exactly what constitutes a full set.”  Karl began walking towards the shop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland happily explained to Karl the tools he's accrued for his research - specifically those he used for machines.  “I'd be more than happy to help you find all the appropriate tools as well.” He said as the group walked into the apothecary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon entering, Jominda greeted them excitedly.  “I'm so glad you've returned!  Master Oorin told me you’d be by!  You'll never guess what you have!” She reached behind her counter and retrieved one of the vials full of green gas.  “I could barely believe it when I identified this earlier today.  It is called a </span>
  <em>
    <span>haunt siphon</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  It is a very rare object, and one that was designed to aid those who encounter malicious spirits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She demonstrated how to open the vial by opening a clasp and twisting the lid.  As she did so, the gas inside the vial began swirling around.  After making sure each had seen it, she closed it again.  “If you were to encounter a dangerous spirit, you could attempt to disperse it by opening the </span>
  <em>
    <span>haunt siphon</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  One would probably be powerful enough to disperse less powerful spirits, but more dangerous ghosts might take several.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned it over in her hands, “The good news is that it retains its properties even after it’s used and will be restored and ready to use again after about a day.  If you wish to reset it earlier, you can cast a spell of good-aligned power into it.  Now, is there anything else I can help you with today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa regarded the tool with curiosity.  “What an ingenious device - I've never heard of such a thing.  Could certainly be quite useful.” She turned one over several times in her hands before handing it to Roland.  “Keep those close on hand.  If this morning is any indication, we'll need them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl took up one of the vials and hung it from a loop on his belt.  “I'm certainly glad we came here; these might just be the edge we need.”  He smiled at the apothecary, “Ms. Jominda, could I ask you a question regarding professor Lorrimor?  Did he talk to you about his studies in the weeks before he passed on?  I've heard that you often worked with him, and any information you could give us would be greatly appreciated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She thought for a few moments, “No, he never really talked to me about his studies.  The only real interaction we had was when he would visit with a new formula, or a new request for an alchemical experiment.  For example, he asked me to brew up a batch of something he called </span>
  <em>
    <span>ghost oil</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Said it was for testing a couple of items that might be haunted... Something about the oil making the objects easier for spirits to affect.  I didn't get all the details.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She suddenly looked speculatively at him, “Say, could you use it?  He paid me for the materials, but not the containers.  I've got five doses ready to go, and if you can pay me the two gold pieces I invested, they're yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded assent.  “Also, do you happen to know where I could procure a set of clocksmith's tools?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jominda gave Karl an appraising look, “Well, I might have something like that in the back.  They're just plain tools though, nothing special.  Would that work for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl agrees, “I will gladly reimburse you for your outlay.  As one the professor's heirs, it is the least I can do.  May I see the tools?  I must warn you, I will not have much in the way of means after paying for the professor's items, but perhaps we could work out an arrangement of some sort?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa rolled her eyes.  “Oh, Karl, we certainly have the funds between the lot of us.” She fished a pair of gold coins out of her pouch and handed them over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed, old chap.  After all, we're going to need to pool our resources if we intend to head into the, ah...” Roland glanced at the apothecary.  “The, ah, old place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl grinned and even blushed a bit.  “I've never had friends like this before.  You're all too kind, I don't even, the professor, I think he brought us all together for a reason.  Even from beyond the veil, he's teaching me new things.” Karl mumbled a bit in his embarrassment but smiled genuinely at Roland and Shanoa.  “Thanks.  I really mean it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jominda was very accommodating.  She had an old set of ‘clockmaker's tools’ that while dated were still usable.  She asked for 20 gold due to their age, and the fact that she'd had them for years without anybody asking to purchase them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl handed over the gold after collecting it from his companions, “Thank you Jominda.  It's a good thing we visited your shop today.”  Once everyone finished, Karl exited the shop with the rest of the group.  “Well, should we make our way to Harrowstone now, or wait until tomorrow?  It seems like these spirits are active day and night, although we will probably do better while the sun's light shines on us.  Then again, I don't really want to know what these ghosts will do with another evening to torment this town.  Frankly, I don't even like that Oorin isn't here with us right now.  We can't afford to lose another like we lost Michael.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is, however, with Kendra.” Roland pointed out.  “And her safety is paramount.  In fact, I'd prefer to ensure her safety before we go anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked to Shanoa, Arthur and Roland.  “What do you think?  Is there anything we've missed?  Any other information about these spirits we could find?  Anything from your Harrow readings?  If not, I think the sooner we make our way into the prison, the sooner this will all be over with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa considered for a moment.  “As much as I hate the idea, going at night may be wise.  I don't think we should let the townsfolk know we're going there - they seem to be skittish enough as it is - I'd rather we not have more rumors flying around if we can help it.  I suppose we could still go by day if we left town from the other direction and then skirted around the town to approach the prison.  Also, I'd like to make some more holy water before we go - I used all mine this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded.  “That sounds like a good idea to me.  Let's retire to the house; we'll ready ourselves to infiltrate Harrowstone in the morning well rested and with all our strength. Roland, Arthur, what do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have some Alchemist's Fire brewing at the house, but, ah, it'll be a few more days before it's ready.  But I admit, we need to act before things get any worse in the town.” He sighed.  “Even so, we really should be rested and prepared before we do anything.  And again, we must make sure Kendra won't be harmed while we're away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat and looked away, slightly embarrassed to admit his cowardice to Shanoa.  “And, ah...I would also be more comfortable going to the prison while the sun is up.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>What a great way to impress a lady.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When they arrived at the house, Karl took some of the magic siphons and oil back from Roland and distributed them to his other companions, making sure that Shanoa and Arthur each got one of the oils.  “We can apply these to our weapons when the time comes.  Let's try to be sparing with them though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then went through his pack, deciding which items to take, and which to leave in his room at the Lorrimor house.  “I probably won't need my tent or my bedding” he mumbled to himself as he went through the items, “and this iron pot is right out but the rope should be useful, and these sunrods as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, he applied his normal whetstone to his daggers and javelins before honing his greatsword with the magical whetstone he received at the false tomb.  Finally, he looked to his armor, checking for weak links and rust, then applying a fresh coat of oil mixed with ashes to keep the links rust free and dulled against reflecting lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa passed the afternoon restlessly.  When night finally fell, she retired to her room and laid out two more empty flasks, kneeling before them and reciting several incantations which filled them with water before the water very subtly changed hue.  Thinking of the events of this morning, she checked the window to make sure it was latched and shuttered before finally changing into her night clothes and climbing into bed.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm not eager for the morning to come...</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks as she drifts off to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The road south out of town intersected with a wide trail about one mile outside of Ravengro.  A dilapidated sign indicated the trail led to Harrowstone Prison.  It was covered in stone at one point, but the decades of neglect have left the path overgrown with tall grass and weeds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa tried to put on a brave face as they left in the morning, but as they walked out of town towards the prison, she became more and more anxious, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trail wound to the southeast for a few hundred yards before they emerged from the forest.  A large hill rose in front of them, with a stone wall and guard towers resting on top.  The trail continued around the base of the hill until it reached the southern side where it turned up the incline.  At the top of the hill were a set of rusting iron and wooden gates supported by two large towers.  They creaked softly as the wind pushed them to and fro.  Beyond the gate rose the two-story building known as Harrowstone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland may not have been a ‘people person,’ but on the trip to the prison he could palpably sense the uneasiness in his companions - especially from Shanoa.  As the walls of the prison came into view, her heartbeat quickened and her step faltered for a moment before she looked around and, heartened by the presence of her companions, continued onward.  She tried to concentrate on the reassuring soft clink of the flasks at her side as they made the final approach to the gate.  Taking a deep breath, she pulled one of the giant wooden doors open to gaze upon the courtyard.  Almost breathlessly, she said in a low voice, “Let's look in that smaller building before we try and find a way into the prison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded and quietly said, “That's fine, let's all go in together.”  He took his greatsword in hand, balanced on one shoulder and ready for a quick strike before moving forward, eyes wary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland tried to give her a reassuring smile.  It was a fair effort, if not exactly successful.  As she turned to open the doors, his eyes swept over the crumbling facade.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor, you came here by yourself?  I knew you were a brave man, but this seems foolhardy, even with numbers. </span>
  </em>
  <span> He looked around at his companions, noting the painful absence of Michael.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I almost struck him in the tomb.  The poor lad.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He felt a sudden, odd rush of anger, and his hand tightened on his cane.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>These restless spirits have already decimated our number and we've never even set foot within the walls of this place!  We will not suffer another loss!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland looked to Karl - perhaps an unlikely, but defacto leader?  Worldly, well-traveled, his sword slung over his shoulder, looking every inch the brave warrior prepared to stride into danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze shifted to Shanoa - clearly terrified, but willing to confront her very real fears to carry on the Professor and Michael's legacies.  Boldly taking point and throwing open the literal doors of madness and horror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked to Oorin - an odd gnome who admitted he barely knew the Professor, but earnest and good enough to step into a dangerous situation when innocents were threatened.  Possessed of a keen curiosity that must drive him the way the Professor's did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, to Arthur - the helmed and mysterious Priest.  In many ways, an enigma - eerily calm in the face of almost certain doom.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brave heroes, all.  Michael and the Professor deserve to be here with them.  Not me.  I'm the cowardly scholar who should be safely back at Kendra's.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart pounding, Roland watched Shanoa throw open the doors, half expecting an army of ghostly prisoners to pour out and consume them.  When nothing happened, he audibly sighed in relief.  Still, Roland's eyes darted hither and yon as the quintet began to advance into the threshold of Harrowstone; every shadow and rustle enough to cause his stomach to lurch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The atmosphere in the courtyard was oppressive, and as the wind shifted slightly, the stench of burning flesh and wood assailed their senses.  It appeared that the worst of it came from the east, somewhere around the murky pool of water.  Just as it threatened to overwhelm them, the wind shifted again, and all traces of smoke and death vanished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Roland began coughing and choking.  He slapped at his arms and chest, throwing his hands into the air.  A hoarse scream escaped his lips as he dropped to the ground and started rolling around, “It burns, the fire!  It burns!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not sure what was happening, Shanoa jumped on Roland to try and subdue him.  As they struggled, she yelled, “Roland, stop!  You're not burning!  Please stop!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wild with sudden panic, flames dancing in his vision, Roland didn’t seem to see or hear Shanoa, and slipped away from her, only to be caught by Arthur's strong hands.  He struggled but was no match for the firm grip of the priest, shrieking.  “We're burning alive!  Why won't they let us </span>
  <em>
    <span>ouuuuuuuttttttt!?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl looked at Roland in shock and horror.  Unsure of what to do, he dropped his sword and grabbed his haunt siphon.  He twisted the vial open and whispered under his breath, “Pharasma, let this work!”  As it opened, the gas inside the vial erupted outward and hovered in the air for a moment before flying directly at Roland.  The smoke dissipated as it hit him, and he slumped forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland blinked and looked up, his eyes once again clear, and no longer suffering from the haunt.  He slumped in the priest's grip, shaking his head.  His voice came out hoarse.  “My...my apologies.”  He cleared his throat, and tried to smile, voice quaking, face pale.  “You, ah, can let me go now, Arthur.  Whatever came over me seems to have ended.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa scrambled back to her feet, suddenly feeling self-conscious.  She looked around for some indication of who might have caused Roland to lose his sanity like that, but not seeing anyone other than their group, became still...and frightened.  “What just happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl looked around, wary as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  “What happened Roland?  Are you ok?  Also, not to alarm anyone, but there is a skull on the steps of the main building.”  He slowly placed the spent vial into his backpack and took his sword back up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't know.  As we crossed into the courtyard, I was suddenly overcome with visions of flames, and a terrible sense of being trapped.  It was so real.”  Roland shuddered, the intense feeling of overwhelming heat still fresh in his mind.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>We're not welcome here... we're trespassing on a grave… </span>
  </em>
  <span>Unconsciously, he made the sign of Pharasma's spiral over his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to apologize,” Karl told Roland with a forced grin.  We're just glad you're ok.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Best to not let him know how much that rattled me.  Panic is death here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl’s words came out in a strained whisper.  “We should keep moving.  I don't think staying in one place for a while is a very good idea here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We should flee while we still can!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Roland gulped.  “Ah, yes, and let's be sure not to get separated if we can help it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are rats in the Western guard tower, and red markings on the front of the main prison building,” Karl whispered to the others as he pointed out the red eyes and red markings for the others.  “And there is that skull as well.  There's something I really don't like about that skull.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa frowned and walked closer to the skull Karl pointed out.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is this human?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>It appeared human, though she did notice strange cracks all over it.  She found it odd, almost as if the skull had been shattered and put back together again, all except a small piece on the right side.  Shanoa froze as she realized what she was looking at.  Without turning, eyes fixed on the skull, she asked, “Wasn't one of the murderers that died here trying to recreate his lovers' skull by piecing together bits from his victims?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, indeed,” Oorin murmured, peering more closely at the skull.  “Is this just a psychotic habit or is there necromancy at play?  This is strange,” Oorin said, still looking at the skull.  “It's definitely magical and seems to be both illusory and necromantic, a magical trap perhaps.  Possibly designed to trick the unwary into investigating but it could also be concealing something of importance.”  Oorin shook his head in frustration.  “I don't know enough of these people's methods.  You don't place traps for no reason; it's either designed to keep something out (or in) or to guard something.  I don't know which.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, there's a set of arcane red marks and lines which, as far as I can tell, surround the prison in its entirety.  They appear to be...well, I'm not completely sure what they are.  Something to facilitate a summoning perhaps?”  Oorin's voice took on a worried tone, “These magics are unusual and unique.  A great deal of planning and time has gone into this and we've barely scratched the surface.  The Professor was right to fear what was happening here but I'm afraid he didn't fear it enough.  There's more going on here than an unusual haunting or two.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>You were a brave and intelligent man Professor, but you were in over your head on this one.  I wonder, after all the time you spent investigating, what it was that triggered the need for you to be killed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa still hadn’t moved, fixated as she was on the skull.  “So, what do we do about this?  I don't know if we dare move it but the thought of just leaving it here is frightful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur drew his katana and moved to skewer the skull through the eye sockets.  As his katana touched the skull, it disintegrated into a small pile of dust.  Arthur suddenly raised his katana in a blocking gesture.  He blinked and was surprised to find that he was not under attack.  “Did you not see that?” he asked of the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa looked confused.  “Did not see what?  What did you see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl shook his head at Arthur, a bewildered look on his face.  “I saw you stab that skull, nothing more.  What did you see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur shook his head.  “N...nothing.”  Despite his face hidden behind steel, for the first time since their meeting the group sensed a break in the usual utter confidence the priest exuded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though startled at the sudden destruction of the skull, Shanoa was grateful to have it gone.  “I suppose we'd better look around a bit before we head inside.” She walked over to the murky pond, morningstar in her hand at the ready, her eyes darting here and there for signs of danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they looked, it became obvious that the small house was on the verge of collapsing.  The interior had been ransacked and destroyed, and there did not appear to be anything of value inside.  Shanoa’s keen sight detected slight ripples and eddies in the pond, a stone throw from the water's edge.  They were small but could have indicated movement below.  Unfortunately, the pond was cloudy and murky, and it was impossible to see below the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa stopped several paces away from the water's edge.  “This place makes me uneasy.  There's too much wrong, and too much we don't know.  I think...we'd better look inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl stepped up beside Shanoa.  “Inside the pool, or inside the prison?” His eyes travelled warily, on the lookout for any signs of danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This elicited a nervous laugh from Shanoa.  “No, I wouldn't touch that water.  I saw movement a moment ago and don't want to find out what caused it.  Let's enter the prison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin eyed the pool with distrust mingled with disgust.  “I agree with the prison route.  Mucky pools contain little but muck.  When there is something there it's usually something you don't want to bother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough, prison it is.” Karl made his way to the entrance and said in a low voice, “Oorin, that magical writing, I don't know much about such things, but if we were to erase it, would that be good or bad?  I mean, if the Whispering Way put it there, shouldn't we take it down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These marks are unlikely to be affected by any physical disturbance,” Oorin said.  Turning his attention to the interior, he clicked his tongue at observing what, in his mind, was subpar architectural design, current condition notwithstanding.  “Dismal place, isn't it?  Are there any signs that </span>
  <em>
    <span>living</span>
  </em>
  <span> beings have moved through here recently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland was sure to stay close to the rest of the group, clearly still shaken from the earlier experience.  Shanoa nodded and cautiously approached the entrance to the prison.  With a few words of incantation, her morningstar shone bright as a torch, illuminating the path in front of her.  "Goddess light my way." Thus prepared, she took a deep breath and stepped inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was once a wide hall flanked by a pair of waiting rooms, but the foyer to Harrowstone now lay in ruins.  With little left to hold up the ceiling, the wooden beams above sagged dramatically.  The wall to the north contained a large pair of oaken doors.  The doors were open, and with the illumination from the light spell, they could see streaks of mold stain the walls of this foyer, and the floor below was a thick, gray carpet of fungal growth.  Sturdy wooden doors beckoned from every wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peering at the room ahead, Shanoa continued, “Proceed with caution.  The mold won't harm you - at least not by touching it.” The party spread out a little, opening various doors and peering down hallways.  Oorin stepped into a spacious room that smelled of mildew and rot.  It appeared to have once been an office - a long desk and chair sat at one end while the other contained a narrow alcove with a closed safe.  Thick layers of dust covered everything in sight.  “Except for the air of malice, which doesn't seem to include this room, I've seen nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary so far.  I don't know if that makes me more nervous or less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon entering the office, Roland's general level of agitation also lessened noticeably, in that he was no longer trembling.  “A little bit of both, in my case.  I keep expecting something to jump out of every corner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl joined him and poked briefly at the safe.  “Strange how everything seems so much less oppressive in here.  Well, let's see if the warden left us any helpful information on these spirits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!  Here, let me see if I might be able to help you with that.”  Roland looked over Karl's shoulder as he worked.  “Yes, just a quarter turn or so to the left, and use the smallest tool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa concurred.  “You feel it too?  I don't know if it's just that the rest of the place feels so...evil...but there is something different about this place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl almost threw up his hands in frustration as he tinkered with the safe but settled himself with a deep breath.  “I'm going to keep trying.  This room seems safe enough for the moment.”  He bent himself to the task once more, thankful for Roland's assistance and advice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin frowned as the safe refused to be picked.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hate an unsatisfied curiosity.  “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Perhaps it's best if we search those rooms by the entrance first before moving further in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl began meticulously testing the lock, attempting to trip the tumblers one by one.  As he tried his last option, the audible click surprised everyone as the lock disengaged.  Inside the safe, they found numerous legal documents regarding Harrowstone and its prisoners, a small metal lockbox filled with gold pieces, and a wooden rack with nine potions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland smiled and clapped Karl lightly on the back.  “Well done!  I dare say you have a real talent at this!  I don't know that I'd have been able to get that open, myself.”  As Karl removed the items from the safe, Roland's eyes fell on the rack with the potions.  “Ah!  Let me see those.” Gingerly taking the potions, he eyed and swished each of them in their bottles, humming and hawing for a moment.  “Very handy curative magics, all of them.  Four curative potions, moderate power.  Three restorative potions, but fairly weak.  And these two appear to remove diseases.”  Handing a few to Karl, Roland secured the rest of the potions to his belt and hid them in his various pockets.  Finally, he nodded back at the gnome.  “A wise suggestion.  Better to make sure we have a safe path of retreat before we venture too far into danger.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I hope they don't think me too cowardly for such a suggestion.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded at Roland.  “I agree.  I'd rather not leave the unknown behind us while we venture deeper into this foul place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one room, several rows of wooden benches, all spotted with mold and sagging with neglect, faced a stage separated from the rest of the room by a wall of iron bars.  In another, a bizarre collection of antique goods rested upon wooden shelves that lined the room.  Several of the items contained tiny tags with labels written in a careful script.  Oorin stepped into the room to investigate more closely and spotted something on the wall.  “A concealed door,” Oorin wondered aloud.  “Let's see if there's anything of value.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed the door open to reveal a small reinforced closet.  There were several shelves lining the walls, but only five items remained.  A tag had been attached to each item containing information about the owner.  A steel handaxe with a wooden handle stained with blood; “Property of Vance Saetressle aka The Lopper”.  A tangled collection of over a dozen holy symbols on silver chains; “Property of Sefick Corvin aka Father Charlatan”.  A spellbook with a cracked leather cover covered in mold; “Property of Hean Feramin aka The Splatter Man”.  A smith’s hammer, the head of which appeared new, despite the signs of age on the handle; “Property of Ispin Onyxcudgel aka The Mosswater Marauder”.  A tarnished silver flute; “Property of ?? aka The Piper of Illmarsh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Oorin cocked an eyebrow at the discovery, “here's a pretty little assortment, if a bit worse for wear,” he concluded eyeing the spellbook.  “They're all magical.  Decently strong but not overtly so.” Oorin frowned as he continued to look at the items.  “Hmpf.  Alteration magic signatures on all of them.  Arguably the least revealing magical aura an item can have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, uh, should we take them, or leave them?”  Karl fidgeted nervously, clearly out of his element.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems to me that these artifacts are, ah, strongly associated with our five most powerful spirits.” Roland tapped his chin.  “Perhaps they can be of use in helping us dispel them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Possibly.  I worried for a moment that they might be cursed, but if someone tagged them and placed them here that would seem unlikely.  ‘Fortune favors the bold’ they say,” Oorin paused, “although the bold that fortune doesn't favor usually won't live long enough to serve as an example...oh well.”  Oorin grabbed Splatter Man's spellbook and carefully opened it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  “I agree.  It makes me nervous, but they may aid us against them, if it comes to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl hefted the handaxe, testing the weight and balance by quickly flipping it into the air before catching the haft.  “Hmmm, Lopper.  He and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After hesitating momentarily, Shanoa reached out to pick up the tangle of holy symbols, wondering if she might find her own deity represented in the mess.  The collection of holy symbols was maddeningly tangled together, so much so that it would take hours of tedious work to separate them.  In fact, as she examined the mess of thin silver chains, she found it difficult to follow one strand through its twists and knots.  After a few moments of examining the collection, she found a familiar symbol - Milani - the same rose depicted on her back.  For a moment, the ominous atmosphere in the room seemed to lessen, the darkness receding, and the sense of foreboding felt since entering disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin’s book was heavier than the gnome expected, and the mold had penetrated into the interior, ruining several pages in both the front and back.  Luckily, most of the spellbook was intact, and he found a number of spells inside.  As he flipped through the pages, he noticed notes in the margins of the pages, but unlike the rest of the book, these scribbles appeared to be written in blood.  Although it took some study, he began to work out the notes, but his concern grew as he realized that all of them repeat the same word over and over again: Oorincunathysin.  A chill ran through his small body and he slammed the book shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland reached out and picked up the flute to examine.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>This fiend is responsible for Michael’s death.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  A rush of anger flushed his face.  This flute was once a wonderful musical instrument, but now, the silver was tarnished, the lip plate was worn, and the keys were loose.  Even so, a musician might be able to restore the piece to its former glory.  Still, other than it being heavier than he expected, Roland saw nothing unusual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur picked up the hammer.  “No sense leaving this one behind,” he said in a low voice.  He admires the craftsmanship that went into its creation.  Glancing to the side, he felt a strong urge to swing it through the air, maybe even testing it out against...something.  Something hard, and round.  Something like...Roland's skull!  Despite the urge, he managed to restrain himself from attacking.  “This hammer was part of the image I saw outside when the skull disintegrated.  The dwarf who charged me carried that hammer.”  He stood silent for a moment before continuing in an ominous voice, "He had the first strike and missed.  I now have a debt to repay that spirit.  Let's keep exploring.  I don't want to be in here any longer than we have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland slipped the flute into his belt.  “Indeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin had been staring intently at the spellbook’s cover and was paying little attention to what the others were doing.  Oorin finally looked up rather vaguely.  “Hmm?” he seemed distracted.  “Oh, ah, yes.  This is certainly not the place for one to linger,” he finished rather abashedly.  He stashed the spellbook away but was already thinking of when he would have the time and to begin copying some of the spells over to his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep your blade ready, Arthur, I get the feeling that you will have your chance soon enough.”  Karl nodded to Oorin and led the way, eyes and ears sharp for traps and treachery.  They entered a largely vacant auditorium, containing only the benches.  The room got colder as they explored it, with the coldest area just in front of the podium.  There, a small bench was fitted with metal hooks and loops, apparently designed to aid in restraining the occupant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa shuddered as she looked distastefully at the bench.  “Torture?” she asked no one in particular.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or sacrifice.” Oorin added grimly.  “The condition of the doors and equipment would seem to indicate no one had come through these areas in a while.  If it weren't for the peculiar atmosphere and the strange warding marks outside, I'd say that nothing odd was going on here at all,” he looked down at the bench, “anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland was silently following the others.  Since leaving the office, his tension had begun to return.  The discovery of the odd restraining bench didn't help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors exiting the auditorium had suffered badly from the weather, and they appeared to be swollen with water to the point where opening them would be difficult.  With a few shoves, Karl managed to open them, and the group proceeded past.  One wall of this room had partially fallen, revealing the dark, murky waters of the pond outside.  Moldering dummies and other similar equipment hinted that this room may have once been a training area for the guards.  In another corner of the room, the floor around a dark, jagged hole was surrounded by black scorch marks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they entered, strange clicking sounds began echoing off the remaining stone walls.  Three flaming skulls flew up out of the hole in the floor, their bottom jaws rapidly opening and closing, creating a horrible mockery of chattering laughter.  Oorin jumped back at the sight of flying burning skulls, “What the?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The skulls moved forward, and the chattering laughter got louder and louder as the flames surrounding them burned even brighter.  Shanoa's eyes went wide in terror as the skulls flew towards her but she reflexively lashed out with her morningstar at the nearest one.  She missed the skull as it dodged to the side.  Another swooped low toward Roland and attempted to bite him.  The third skull, taking advantage of the other's attack, tore into Roland, who was caught off guard.  He let out a cry of fear and pain.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ignore the laughter.  Strike them!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>A surge of adrenaline moved his magic dagger into his hands, and he lashed out at the nearest of the apparitions.  The veins on Roland's head began to throb, and with an audible growl, he lunged for the skull that attacked him, plunging his dagger into the creature's right temple.  The skull shuddered for a moment before falling to the ground and breaking apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chattering skulls caused Oorin to grit his teeth, but he blocked it out as best he could as he began reciting a spell.   As he finished, the flames diminished visibly, though not completely extinguished.  Arthur staggered a bit as he drew his katana, swinging at the nearest skull and destroying it with a whirling overhead strike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl shook off the screeching laughter and rushed forward, swinging at the skull in front of Shanoa.  A small explosion erupted as his weapon disintegrated the skull in a flash.   Surprised at the explosion, he looked down and realized that while he originally intended to draw and use his sword, he actually pulled the bloody handaxe. It somehow seemed like a better weapon, and more appropriate to use against the skulls.  He also saw that the palm of his hand that had held the axe appeared to have an old bloodstain on it.  “That's strange, I could have sworn…” Karl hefted the axe in his hand again, then looked to his greatsword, lying on the ground where he dropped it.  He slipped the axe back into the loop on his belt and picked the sword up off the ground before sheathing it on his back.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathing heavily, Shanoa's eyes darted around the room, expecting more threats to come at them.  “This place is cursed!  There's no way these things were our imagination or illusions.  While the Professor may have died of fright, the threats here are very real - and likely very deadly as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl drew the axe again and ran his thumb along the top of the axe head while humming tunelessly.  “Cursed for certain, Shanoa.  We should keep moving, before this prison becomes our tomb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland was preoccupied nursing his scalded hand, but also seemed somewhat pleased with himself having destroyed one of the skulls.  “Struck down with a single blow!” He said, shaking a bit as the adrenaline wore off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well struck, Roland.  Just keep that dagger handy.”  Karl took a moment to examine the hole the skulls emerged from.  “There are bodies down there, dozens of them, and broken stone and timber, maybe from when the roof collapsed.  There's a doorway down there too. We could climb down, maybe, and dig out the door, or keep exploring up here.  I think I'd rather explore this floor before we go up or down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I agree.  It's prudent to fully explore this level before we descend any further." Roland glanced at one of the shattered skulls.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Otherwise, who knows what dangers we might accidentally leave behind us.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  "If we find no other way down, we can come back here later."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl opened the far door and found a room containing a huge stone furnace dominating the space, easily large enough for a child to climb inside.  An ancient fire had burned away an entire wall of the room, providing a panoramic, if eerie, view of the lake beyond.  That same lake had gradually expanded into the room, flooding its eastern half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa scanned the room briefly.  "I don't like that water.  Let's move on."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Karl and Oorin entered the room, they began to notice the bitter scent of burning wood.  The sound of screaming from a distance grew louder and louder, until a harsh clang drew everyone's attention to the furnace, which now had an eerie orange glow coming from somewhere inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland backed away from the furnace, clutching his cane and the enchanted dagger tight.  "Now what!?" he asked somewhat more shrilly than he intended, the high from defeating the skulls evaporating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out of here!” Karl shouts in response to Roland.  Visions of fiery doom crowded out his thoughts as he and Oorin rushed back out of the room.  Around them, the chaos suddenly ended.  The sounds faded, the light inside the furnace went out, and the stench of burning wood disappeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves.  “Well, that was anticlimactic.”  He smiled weakly.  “Not that I'm, ah, complaining.”  He glanced at the stairs.  "I know we've touched on this already, but I'd feel more comfortable checking the west side of this floor before we venture up or down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin hesitated, stroking his beard.  “That would be the next logical step if we decide to abandon this room.  I would like to see what lies through that other door, but this furnace is clearly not going anywhere.  Part of what we lack here is information.”  He held up Splatter Man's spellbook.  “These items are critical; I don't know how or why but they are.  I would hate to think we missed them, or something else of equal value, because we didn't bother to look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The room isn't very big, and I have some magical protection against fire.  I could run across the room and open the other door with what, I think, is minimal risk.  If I am able to clear the room before the disturbance manifests, then so might everyone else.  We were only in danger before because we were lingering around.  If we do this correctly, there should be little danger at all, and we don't need to worry about having left an important clue behind.  We knew this place would be dangerous.  Going to another part of it doesn't reduce that danger; we have to start facing it at some point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa was surprised to hear the little gnome wanted to go back.  “You're right, of course, but that doesn't mean we should throw ourselves recklessly into danger.  We'd better be prepared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl shook his head in disbelief.  “If you say you can do it Oorin, I believe you.  There might be another way into that room, but I will do what I can to help you.  Just let me know what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin braced himself, then sprinted toward the door on the far side of the room.  As expected, the furnace came to life as an orange glow illuminated the entire room.  Gouts of fire shot outward as the gnome rushed toward the door, narrowly missing his small frame.  The door on the far wall opened easily, and Oorin tumbled in.  Unlike a few moments ago, the furnace continues to burn, and rays of fire shoot outward into the room, leaving large scorch marks where they impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oorin!” Karl shouted over the roar of the furnace, “Are you alright?  What have you found?”  The half-elf’s shoulders twitched as he held himself back from rushing into the gouts of flame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa looks on in horror, “I hope he made it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With no immediate answer, Roland joined in the shouting, “I say, Oorin!  Are you okay?”  He winced back from a gout of flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite their repeated cries for Oorin's attention, the only response was silence.  Even though the furnace continued to roar and belch flame and smoke, they were sure they could have heard Oorin had he responded.  Karl looked to Roland, Shanoa and Arthur with alarm in his eyes.  “He should have said something by now.  We need to go after him.”  He pulled a kerchief out of his pocket and soaked it with water from his skin before tying it around his head to cover his nose and mouth like a bandit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa scowled.  “Is there another way around?”  She abandoned caution and started running back the way they came, through the hallway past the stairs and tried the next few doors, looking for a way to get to him.  Arthur quickly followed behind.  The door at the end of the hallway opened and Shanoa saw Oorin lying on the floor amidst the remains of what looks to be an infirmary.  Cots were strewn about, and the remnants of white sheets hung from large privacy screens.  Doors to smaller, more private sleeping cells hung askew.  Shelves and tables had been overturned, their contents spilled across the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a roar, lines of fire shot out of the boiler as Karl sprinted across the room.  Dodging at the last second, he managed to evade a particularly deadly looking blast and entered the room just after Shanoa.  She ran to the gnome’s side.  “Oorin!  What happened?” She reached down to feel him for signs of life, then closed her eyes and whispered a few words of incantation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl, his cloak singed, rubbed at his smoke-reddened eyes.  “I don't see any wounds, do you?  What could have happened to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin blearily opened his eyes.  It took him a second to remember where he was and what he was doing.  “I'm...I'm not sure,” he said in a confused tone.  He struggled to recall what happened.  “I dodged the fire and made it to the room safely.  I used magic to detect some potions among the debris, then, nothing.  How long have I been out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slight jingling noise started coming from all around.  Several of the items on the ground began to move around, causing the jingling sound as they played a rapid staccato against the stone floor.  Karl noticed that only sharp objects, such as scalpels, syringes, and broken shards of glass were moving.  “We need to get out of here before we get turned into pincushions!”  He ground the heel of his boot into a nearby syringe, shattering it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa grabbed Oorin's arm.  “Let's get out of here now!” She ran out the room the way she came in, dragging the gnome behind her.  Confused, Oorin let himself be led out.  He reached to touch the back of his head and winced in pain.  He seemed mesmerized by the blood on his fingers as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was looking at.  The noise ceased as Karl followed them out.  Several items had been rising into the air, but everything fell back to the floor.  They also noticed that the furnace in the boiler room had gone out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur pushed forward to the doorway, extended his katana into the room, and nudged some of the debris on the floor.  Seeing no reaction, he said, "Whatever was happening appears to be finished, or waiting."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin leaned against the wall, still feeling a bit woozy. "It's hard to fight something when you don't know the source."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland had been left behind in the other room in the sudden flurry of activity.  Suddenly, he found he was standing alone.  In the haunted prison.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>This isn't good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Slowly, Roland began to backtrack, following the path Shanoa and Arthur took.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came around the corner to find Oorin with a hand held to his throbbing head.  “I admire your decisiveness, but next time, ah, perhaps a warning before you rush headlong into danger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa looked at Karl and then back at Oorin, a concern apparent on her face.  “Are you sure you're ok?  You look a bit weak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm still seeing a bit of double-vision and that makes me feel queasy.  I'll be happier when we can rest for the night, but as long as there are no more surprises, I think I'll be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought so.  Here, let me see if I can help that.”  Laying her hands once more on the gnome, she closes her eyes and recites a prayer of healing.  He immediately looks refreshed and smiles gratefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland clears his throat.  “In a pinch, I, ah, also know a few quick extracts that can restore your vigor.”  He interjects.  “Assuming you wish to reserve calling upon your deity for, ah, emergencies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Karl was looking into another adjacent room.  The door had fallen from its hinges and was currently lying on the floor inside.  The rectangular chamber beyond seemed to have once been a chapel, but now thick sheets of cobwebs draped everything within in gossamer threads.  “I'd like to clear away some of these cobwebs before we investigate this room.  Should we clear them away with our weapons, or perhaps burn them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland looked around past the taller man.  “I'd be hesitant to do anything related to 'burning' in Harrowstone, considering the circumstances that created this tomb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl frowned in thought for a moment, “It's good that you're here to point these things out to me, Roland.”  The group slowly entered as Karl began hacking the cobwebs away with his axe.  A chittering sound grabbed everyone's attention as three large spiders emerged from deep within the web.  “Let's not fight them in these webs.  If we back out, we can force them to attack us one at a time,” he says through gritted teeth.  “We can flank them on either side of the doorway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They begin backing out of the doorway, but the spiders quickly scurried toward the group across the mass of webbing.  One leaped at Karl, sinking its fangs into his arm.  It burns as he feels venom spread from the bite.  Another bit Roland on the leg, while the last lunged for Oorin.  He dodged and the monster landed on its side, legs flailing as it struggled to its feet.  Once through the doorway, the gnome fired his crossbow and scored a direct hit on the spider that had attacked him.  With a blast of air and a high-pitched shriek, it curled its legs up in death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others took up positions just outside the door, ready to attack.  Roland winced and braced himself against the wall, dagger held in front of him.  Already he could feel a numbness spreading in his leg, and a tingling in his fingers.  “I’ve been poisoned,” he said matter-of-factly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A spider bursts through the doorway, dodging Shanoa’s morning star as it crashes down on the stone floor, and lunges at Karl.  Fortunately its fangs failed to penetrate the half-elf’s armor, and Roland took advantage of the opening and sunk his dagger deep into its body, eliciting a high-pitched squeal as he twisted it.  The gruesome creature danced for a moment before collapsing into a heap.  The last spider darted forward, biting Roland on his hand, but Karl sunk the blade of his handaxe deep into its head, slaying it instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearing away more cobwebs, they found that the room seemed to have once been a chapel.  A cabinet on the far wall still contained a few religious supplies, including vials of holy water and a scroll of restorative magic.  “Well, that was unpleasant but nothing surprising from an old moldy prison,” Oorin stated rather blandly.  “Apart from the two...self-animating rooms, I suppose you could call them, I haven't seen anything that really strikes me as suspicious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa looked at the gnome with an air of bewilderment but said nothing, shaking her head instead.  She gathered up the supplies then returned to the hallway, peering into the next room.  The door still hung from its hinges, though it was open and allowed a clear view of the interior.  The chamber was in shambles – old wooden benches lay in ruins along the walls, while rusty chains and bits of rotten rope lay scattered on the floor.  Old and rotting clothing lay piled back in the corners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl stopped just short of the entering.  “I don't like the way that room feels.  It feels like the end of all hope, and irons on my wrists.  I think...I think we might not want to go into that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin looked at Karl.  “Really?" he paused for a moment.  “I don't feel anything.”  He started to walk past and into the room, but the larger man grabbed him before he could make his way further.  Glaring at Karl, he tried to squirm free, “What in the name of Calistria’s butt cheeks are you doing?”  He stopped suddenly as the sensation hit him.  “That's a strange feeling; it's as if the room doesn't want me in there.  Like there was no point to anything.”  He looked up at Karl.  “Will you please let go of me?  It's not going to go away on its own. Perhaps another one of the murderer's objects is in there and that's what's causing this.  We came here to get information; we aren't going to find it in the hallway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland had been nursing his spider bites and following behind the others, and his attention had drifted.  It snapped back as Karl and Oorin began to scuffle in the hallway.  “Indeed, best to ensure there's nothing dangerous left on this level before pressing on.”  Even as he said that, seeing Karl's vehemence at not pressing onward into the room had clearly left him little desire to do so himself, and he hesitated to move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl released Oorin and sighed, his shoulders slumped.  “You're both right, but Oorin, if you go charging in, how do we get you out?  I just want you to be cautious.  There are plenty of angry spirits here already, no need to add to that number from our own group.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll be cautious," Oorin said and then smiled.  “As for how you get me out, I expect you to come and get me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl took a step back from the doorway.  “Do you really think there are more artifacts?  We have one for each of the murderers: hammer, holy symbols, flute, book and my axe. Whatever restless dead are here, it's not just the murderers. I think it's all of the prisoners.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gnome picked up a decaying book, apparently a log of some kind.  Flipping through, he discovered that the final five names are very familiar.  From the benches, manacles, and details in the book, it seemed like this was the final room the criminals saw before being sent to their cells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa's getting more and more nervous as they linger.  “Come on Oorin, let's go…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the book and took it with him as he left the room.  “Not much there except this old logbook. Guess which five people make up the last entries?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully not us,” Karl said with a wry grin, happy that Oorin had emerged unscathed.  He moves along the corridor, opening the next door he comes to.  In the semi-darkness sat several rusty iron tubs, along with washboards, metal buckets, and heaps of moldy clothing.  “Something is moving under those old clothes,” Karl whispered as he stalked forward towards the rustling pile.  As he closed in, a loud scream erupted and clothing began flying at him, obscuring him in a mass of swirling (and soiled) linen and cotton garments.  The clothes twisted and turned all around Karl, becoming tighter and tighter until they began to strangle the very life out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa and Roland let out a shout of surprise and rushed to Karl, grabbing at the linens and pulling them away from his throat.  Knowing he was far too weak to help much in ripping the clothes away (and unsure how long they would stay that way), Oorin pulled out his Soul Siphon and opened it.  The gas inside erupts outward and enveloped Karl and the animated clothing.  Several seconds passed before the gas abruptly changed colors and became a dark gray.  It ceased swirling around Karl and flew back into the siphon, with the lid slamming shut as the last of the gas entered the vial.  The clothing hangs limply around Karl, who gasped for air and pulled a rag away from his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa embraced him after pulling off the last of the laundry.  “Karl, are you alright?  This place is crazy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, so this place is definitely haunted.  Nevertheless, I've seen little here to indicate the presence of planned evil that seemed apparent from our research and the events in town.  In any case,” Oorin stops suddenly, looking at the wall.  “Is that a door underneath that filth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur walked over to the door, and after a moment of inspecting it, swung it open to reveal another room.  He peered in for a moment before turning to the rest of the party.  “There are two people in here, chained up and lying on the floor.  They appear to still be breathing...”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They entered a room with a low stone bench against the north wall and a ruined desk to the south.  Several benches were piled against the wall near the ruined desk, though two benches had been placed in the center of the room, with what appear to be people lying on them, chained by their hands and feet.  An old brass brazier sat in a stone pedestal on the west wall, surrounded by several rusty branding irons.  Karl held back, wary for some kind of trick after all the strange occurrences here in Harrowstone.  “Oorin, Shanoa, Roland,” he whispered.  “Do you think they're real people, or...something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both were wearing clothing and armor, and there was a pile of equipment in one corner of the room, likely theirs given how out of place it looked in a decrepit prison that had been closed for 50 years.  Shanoa focused her gaze on the two figures.  Shaking her head, she answered, “I don't sense any malice from them, and they at least look alive.”  Cautiously, she approached and knelt beside them.  One was a human female of medium build with long raven hair, the other a man wearing heavy banded mail.  Reaching out tentatively, she touched the woman.  “Hey, are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At her touch a pair of mismatched eyes, one green the other violet, fluttered open as the prone woman reached up to snatch at her hand with her own claw-like hand, five talon-like fingernails ready to rend, only to have it stopped short by the chains restraining her.  Surprised, Shanoa fell back on her rear.  As her eyes focused on the other woman, she realized these are not the same cloaked, hooded figures who had been tormenting her the past several days "W, w, water, please." she managed to croak out through parched lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa pulled out her waterskin and nervously handed it over.  “It's ok, we're not here to hurt you.  Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prisoners?”  Oorin exclaimed with surprise.  “I never expected prisoners; and why keep them here?  Some sort of ritual perhaps?  Or maybe...” Oorin trailed off muttering to himself as his mind went over numerous theoretical possibilities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man slowly came to and blinked as he shifted around on the bench, looking for his sword.  He seemed panicked by the chains, and his brown eyes shifted back and forth under the mop of hair that hung over his face.  When he realized that the strangers were not going to hurt him, he relaxed a bit and responded, a grim smile on his face, “Well, I suppose if you were here to kill me, you'd not be talking to me first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If they are prisoners here, we must free them.”  Karl looked for a way to release the man and the woman.  “I am Karl, this is Shanoa.  As for our gnomish friend, we call him Oorin but you’ll have to ask for his full name yourself,” he said with a tight grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is actually Oorincunathysin but no one ever pronounces it correctly so please just call me Oorin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland cleared his throat, looking a little hurt.  “I'm, ah, standing here too,” he said to the ranger.  He put a hand on his chest and introduced himself.  “Roland Savardson.  And this is Arthur.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded apologetically, then looked back to the prisoners.  “How did you come to be here?  This place should not be ventured into lightly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man responded, “Do you know of a Professor Lorrimor?  I was summoned to his funeral but must have been ambushed.  I'm not entirely sure where I am, but it's been many days since we were chained up in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The funeral was, ah, several days ago, I'm afraid.  You appear to have been waylaid and incarcerated in Harrowstone Prison.”  Roland walked over and began working at the locks on his chains, nodding to Karl to do the same for Cassandra.  “The prison is, ah, haunted, and is the place where the late Professor met his own fate.  That is why we happen to be here investigating, we are all old, ah, friends and associates of the Professor’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Darren, and thank you for rescuing us from this horrid place -- haunted, you say?”  He grimaced and shook his head.  “I only wish I'd been there to pay my respects for Mr. Lorrimor at the appropriate time, but I guess late is better than never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.  I’m Cassandra, Cassandra Blackmoore.  Darren and I were travelling to the Professor's funeral when our coach was waylaid by several cloaked men.  I don't remember much of what happened after that as I floated in and out of consciousness.  I can remember someone who the others called The Golden Lord or some such asking us questions, but I can't remember what exactly he was after. That's about it until I woke up just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, you're friends of Professor Lorrimor?”  Shanoa smiles warmly, “then you're friends of ours too. We came here for his funeral and have been investigating the unusual circumstances of his death since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once her chains were removed Cassandra rubbed her chafed wrists and looked over at her badly bruised companion.  Slowly rising and walking rather stiffly over to her gear she began to rummage around in her pack until she found a piece of wood carved into the shape of a whirlwind.  Placing the plain leather thong around her neck, she kissed the talisman before closing her eyes.  Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes as a wave of energy radiated out from the core of her being.  Sighing in relief and stretching her muscles, Cassandra walked over and placed her hand on Darren's shoulder, whispering a brief prayer as healing energy passed between the two of them.  Shouldering her pack, Cassandra turned to her rescuers, “If you would be so kind as to escort us out of here.  I would like to go pay my respects to the Professor and relay my condolences and regrets to his family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren sat up on the bench and stretched, loudly popping several pained joints from their extensive imprisonment.  “Some power you have there,” he said, marveling at how quickly he felt his strength returning.  “You must be blessed.”  He stood up and shrugged off some of the dust that had gathered on his armor, then retrieved the rest of his gear from its stash.  “Yes, an escort out of here would be most appreciated, as we do not know the way.  But first, are any of our captors still here?  I've got a score to settle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa frowned a bit.  “I don't think we're ready to leave yet - we haven't found what we came here for. Although we found out this place is certainly haunted, and we found you two.  You're welcome to come with us, as it looks as though both of you might be good in a fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what exactly is it you're looking for?” Cassandra asked Shanoa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked a bit embarrassed.  “Well, we're not exactly sure, to be honest.  There's been all sorts of strange things happening lately around town, plus the professor's death.  We're here to look for what the cause might be, whether cultists or, well, like I said, this place is haunted.  It's evil.  And it may be affecting those in the town now as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded.  “Professor Lorrimor died investigating this place and we do not believe that his death was an accident.  One of our companions also lost his life and we have been attacked as well.  There are restless spirits here in Harrowstone, and some of them are worse than others.  You should know this if you plan to join us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin continued, “There is a fell hand behind all of this; there can be little doubt of that.  Speaking too much of that in this place is probably unwise.  We are operating very much in the dark.  Information is largely what we seek.  We have some information about the fire that destroyed this place and the prison riot that supposedly caused it.  We have the names of five particularly vicious criminals who were interred here at the time, and signs pointing to their motifs have been appearing lately, and some strange inconsistency regarding the Warden's wife and what she was doing here at the time. The rest of the story should wait till later, I think.  As for what we've uncovered so far,” Oorin's voice became slightly annoyed at this point, “precious little. This place is most definitely haunted but it seems random and without direction. We've also found items belonging to those five criminals but what they pertain to I don't know.”  He looked like he was about to continue but eventually just sighed and shrugged; obviously upset at his lack of information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm impressed,” Darren says finally, nodding.  “You should know, I've not much experience with mysteries of this sort, but I'll dedicate my sword, shield, and any wits I can muster to the solving of the dear Professor's murder.  I wish he were still alive and with us now, as I'm sure he'd know exactly what to do in such a situation as this, but a darker part of me is at least glad that I can join in a hunt to bring his murderers to swift and deadly justice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.  The Professor was a staunch opponent to evil during his life.  I think I speak for us all when I say we wish to see the legacy of his good work continued.”  At that, Roland glanced at Cassandra and nodded in her direction.  “And, Miss. Blackmoore, I, ah, expect you in particular would be interested in helping the restless spirits of this place find their peace?”  He made the sign of Pharasma's spiral over his heart, clearly assuming she is a priestess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right.  I will do what I can to help,” she responded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They opened next door to find tangled mounds of moth-eaten fabric sitting on several wooden tables, each surrounded by workbenches.  Various sewing tools— shears, needles, rolls of thread, boxes of chalk, and other objects lay scattered over the floor, while the arm of what appeared to be a skeleton protruded from a stained heap of fabric to the west.  As they examined the room, a ghostly figure emerged from the skeleton.  It appeared as a beautiful young woman dressed in a tattered but lovely blue dress.  In fact, much about the ghost was blue, including her hair, her skin, and the tears that ran from her pale blue eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It regarded them for a moment before speaking in a hollow voice, “Are you the new guards from Ravengro, here to replace those cowards who locked me in here to die?”  Small blue wisps of smoke drifted out of her mouth as she spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa's breath caught in her throat.  “Who...who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am Vesorianna Hawkran, or I should say, I am what remains of her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She relaxed visibly as her mind raced to connect the name with the recent events around town.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her name starts with a V!</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “Are you by any chance the late warden's wife?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked much more depressed as Shanoa mentioned the warden, and the blue tears streaming down her face became more visible.  “Yes, Lyvar was my husband.  He and I lived in the small house outside the prison, while all of the guards had homes nearby in Ravengro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin cleared his throat.  “Ah, there will be no more guards, my lady; this place is burned and ruined.  Who was it that locked you in here and why?  Part of why we're here is to understand what happened during those tumultuous days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesorianna looked surprised at Oorin's words, “No more guards?  Then why are you...I apologize, sometimes I forget myself.  I will answer your other question...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My husband and I were finishing our evening meal when the Captain of the Guards, a cruel man named Gurtis Vortch, burst into our home.  He informed my husband that several of the new inmates had escaped and started a riot on the lower level of the prison.  My husband told me to wait, then left with Gurtis.  I waited for what seemed like an hour before I could not bear it any longer.  I defied my husband and ran to the prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I found it in chaos.  Guards were running around, screaming and shouting, and I could smell smoke.  I went into the storage area to the west where I found a group of guards surrounding the elevator.  They told me my husband had entered the lower level in an attempt to try and stop the rioting.  But the men refused to send any more to help him - the cowards left him down there with those murderers, and just stood there as we heard their fellow guards screaming as the prisoners tortured them.  I tried reasoning with them, and I tried reminding them of their duty.  They all refused, they just stood there, watching and listening as their comrades died in horrible ways.  I realized that they were not going to do anything, and I would have to try and save Lyvar myself!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I broke away from them and released the elevator, sending it down to the lower level, hoping to give my husband and the remaining guards a chance to escape.  In a panic, the cowardly guards pulled me away from the controls while some of their fellows dumped barrels of oil down the shaft, claiming their actions would prevent prisoners from climbing up the elevator lines.  But they did not think about the fires started during the riots, and the oil ignited in a massive blast that shook the prison.  I heard stones falling and walls collapsing, but never saw the extent of the damage.  Several guards grabbed me and dragged me here, locking the door to prevent more of my 'meddling'.  They left me here as they fled back to their homes, left me to die as smoke filled the room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pointed behind her to the skeleton, “I sat there, crying myself to sleep as the dense smoke overcame me, in the hopes of once again seeing my beloved Lyvar...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a minute of quiet crying, she looked up, “But you said you are not guards.  Then who are you, and why are you here?”  With a sudden dangerous intensity, she leaned forward and asked, “Do you know what happened to my husband's spirit?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland cleared his throat, his voice trembling slightly.  “What do you mean, my lady? What has happened to your husband's spirit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassandra spoke up, “From what I've been told, the influence of some of the prisoners in this place has begun manifesting itself with the village and they are here to investigate it.  As for myself and Darren there,” she indicated him with a wave of her hand, “We were captured by men, flesh and blood men, for what reason we do not know, and brought here.  We do not know what has happened to your husband’s spirit, madame.  But if you could give us more information, we may be able to find out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesorianna relaxed visibly.  “My husband's spirit was here, trapped within this prison, as I am.  He watched over his charges in death as he did in life, keeping them confined within Harrowstone and preventing their escape.”  Nodding to Cassandra, “Yes, I remember them.  Several weeks ago, there were men around, men who spoke in whispers.  I remember hearing a...song.  It sounded like a ritual of some kind.  Thunder and lightning followed.  The storm lasted for hours, drenching the prison with rain and hail.  When the storm passed, Lyvar's spirit was no longer here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With his loss, the spirits have been trying to escape.  I have tried to prevent this, but they do not recognize my authority.  They obeyed my husband as warden of this place, but me?” She shrugs with a helpless look.  “I have tried to act in a way that would make my husband proud.  But without some tangible symbol of authority, I am not strong enough to prevent the most powerful’s influence from passing beyond these walls.  Even now, they push against me, testing my strength.  I fear I will not last much longer, and when I fall, the horrors of Harrowstone prison will bury the mortal lands in pain and death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the gods, we cannot let that happen.”  Karl looked aghast at the very suggestion of more spirits escaping the prison.  “Lady Vesorianna, you spoke of a symbol of authority.  Do you know of any such symbol?  Something we could come to grips with?  If we can, we will put the spirits of this place to rest.  And you as well, if you would have us do so. We will need your help though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa's mouth gaped open.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>The problems in town DID come from the prison, and this spirit is all that’s keeping it from getting worse...and the restless dead are trying to destroy her!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren was clearly struggling to maintain his cool in the presence of the ghost.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>They weren't kidding about the haunted part.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Finally, he said, “We will do our best to help you, if you give us some direction as to what we should do.  Nobody should have to suffer what you suffered, and if it is indeed possible to reunite you with your husband's spirit, we shall strive for it in honor of your bravery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The markings outside, those must have been from the ritual that banished her husband’s spirit.  I think Karl has the right idea.  If we can find some symbol of authority the restless spirits here would recognize then that would settle them down.  The only other options are to bring the Warden's spirit back, which I know no way of doing.  Or to lay all the spirits here to rest which might be well beyond our ability to do.”  Oorin turned back to the spirit of Vesorianna.  “You have my thanks in doing what you can to keep these spirits held here.  I will echo my friend’s question, do you know of any symbol that the spirits here will respect?  Without such a symbol, how long do you think you can keep them at bay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassandra frowned, “What type of symbol would the spirits in here respect, or fear?  A badge of office perhaps, or a truncheon or other weapon specific to your dead husband?  Any of which I must assume is interred along with his remains on the level below.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesorianna's gaze raised slightly, as if she was looking over their heads.  Her eyelids seemed to flutter, and her eyes twitched.  “I do not know in what form or shape the symbol will appear to your eyes.  To my senses, I see it as a golden light in the darkness that infests this prison.  The only direction I can provide you is that it is something that would have mattered to my husband during his life.  As his body now lies below, it is there you should begin your search.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her gaze returned to normal and she looked upon Oorin, “I believe I can hold them for another few days, a week at most.  There is one inside this prison, the most powerful, who has the ability to steal my very essence.  Unfortunately, he has begun the process, and once he has spelled my name, I will be no more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew it!  It's your name on the statue in town!”  Suddenly Shanoa looked horrified.  “We have very little time!  And we must venture further into this place...” Subconsciously, she reached down for the reassuring feel of the flasks of holy water at her waist and allowed them to clank audibly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesorianna nodded, “Your insight is correct.  Once my name is spelled, I will cease to exist...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How deep are we, and how much deeper can we go?”  Darren asks, looking around a little worried.  Then his face became resolute, “Either way, we must continue.  If you are already being undermined,” he said, looking at Vesorianna, “then there is no time to lose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning to Darren, she says, “Sir, you are on the main floor, and the main cells are one level below.  Another floor is above us, containing a few cells that were used for the less dangerous criminals.  Of course, in this place, all of the criminals were deranged and evil, so less dangerous is a relative term.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We'll have to hope that the Watch will prevent Gibs from spelling out any more of Vesorianna's name.”  Karl says with a worried frown.  “Although, if the spirits of this place can get one man to do their foul work, I don't know what would stop them from getting another.”  He shook his head, unwilling to consider just how many townsfolk may be under the sway of the ghosts of Harrowstone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, half-elf, I am sure another tool can be found in town.  The victim need not be an evil man, simply weak of mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady,” he addressed the spirit once more, “Can you give us any information about these ghosts? Perhaps weaknesses, or ways to lay them to rest?  The more we know about our quarry, the better chance we have to hunt them down and send them to Pharasma's court of bones.  We have found some of their weapons and tools, if that helps.”  He shows her the Lopper's axe and the Mosswater Marauder's hammer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sense all the other spirits here, but there are five who pose the most immediate threat.  They are tied to this place, but also to what brought them here.  The items you have were important to the criminals in life, but those same items can be used against them in their current state of undeath.  Using such items against them would ensure their true death, and the safety of Ravengro and the surrounding areas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case,” Oorin mused, “I think we should investigate the upper floor first.  While it’s hard to ignore the impulse to rush down and face the five as soon as possible I don't think that would be the best plan. I would hate to miss something important just because we were too eager or inattentive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded, while holding the tangle of holy symbols up to gaze at.  “I wonder how these would be used against the spirits?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your aid Vesorianna, we'll take our leave of you now and do our best to help you safeguard this place.”  Karl bowed before leading the way back to the stairs towards the upper level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the group moved upstairs, a high-pitched laughter echoed off the stone walls.  A voice soon followed, “Shaaanoooaaa! Shaaaanooooaaaa!  You came to see me!  You must love me because I love you.  I love you like I love all my children.  I am your Father, you know!”  The voice once again erupts in laughter.  “Shanoa!  I know that old fool survived, but this time I'll take your body and kill him with your teeth.  But you will do the killing.  And your friends too, you will tear them to pieces with your teeth.  Your beautiful teeth!  Hurry, my love, I want to give you a hug, and kisses, and bites!  Lots of bites!”  The laughter seemed to echo for another few seconds before the prison once again grew quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa froze and sucked in her breath sharply.  She called out loudly, “Who are you?  Why do you know my name?”  The only answer she received was silence.  Her voice was trembling as she continued in a much lower voice, “It’s...it’s that thing that attacked the priest, Grimburrow.  This isn't some mindless undead we're dealing with here, but a malice far more dangerous.”  She tried to steady herself using the wall for support as they climbed the rest of the stairs.  It was obvious that she was quite shaken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darron’s eyes darted around, searching for the source of the voice.  He held his sword out, combat ready, “Whatever it was, it seems to consider you its child.  Is that a new development, seeing as you've encountered this malicious spirit before? Why would he claim to be your father?  Forgive me if I'm stepping over the line, but as I still don't know you so well, I must ask: it couldn't possibly be true, could it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa shook her head.  “No, my father is alive and well in Lozeri north of here.  More likely this is a deranged and demented mind made more so by years of death and isolation.  That doesn't make him any less dangerous though.  He possessed a corpse in town - inside the temple of Pharasma - and killed an acolyte there, almost killing Father Grimburrow in the process before I put it down.  I imagine he wants revenge for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl puts his hand reassuringly on her shoulder.  “Don't worry Shanoa, with all of us working together and with Darren and Cassandra's aid, we'll put this shade to eternal rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassandra looked at Shanoa with a question in her eyes.  “A most dangerous spirit indeed if it can manifest itself in a temple of The Lady.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The group continued up the stairs and found a landing.  Several large tables and benches lay stacked in a jumble.  From the light streaming into the room, they could tell a large section of the wall had crumbled away from this part of the upper floor.  To the south was a large room containing several benches and a table, all sitting behind iron bars.  From the furniture, it was apparently used as a guard post.  They passed a number of cells and through a pantry that connected to what had apparently been a kitchen, but was now nothing more than charred, blackened remains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl put a hand to a vial of acid he carried with him and looked around.  “Do you hear that buzzing?  Almost sounds like locusts.  Roland, Oorin, do either of you have anything to get rid of bugs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland gulped and looked toward the sound, “I’m not sure, let me check, ah yes, this will do nicely.”  He pulled out a vial of alchemist’s fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arthur cocked his head to the side and nodded grimly.  Gesturing to his katana, “Perhaps this will work?”  He took a few steps toward the noise before brandishing his weapon in a ready position.  Everyone could clearly hear the buzzing now, and it seemed to be getting louder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin loaded his crossbow and held it to the ready.  “I hate it when bugs are bigger than I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassandra whispered a brief prayer and those around her felt a sense of calm envelop them, bolstering their courage just in time to see what looked like a mosquito with bat-like wings flying around the corner.  It immediately latched onto Arthur and began draining its blood through its needle-sharp proboscis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Get off of him!" Shanoa shrieked as she rushed towards the pair, tightening her grip on her morningstar and swinging at the creature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl hurled his javelin at the stirge, hoping to kill it before it could seriously harm Arthur.  Trying to get a bead on the insect itself, Oorin shoots and the bolt struck with a sickening thud.  While Cassandra slashed at it with her sickle, Roland swung his cane and connected with a solid blow to its head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The giant insect continued to drain Arthur's blood, eliciting a cry of pain from the man.  Karl switched his axe to his main hand and sunk it deep into the monster’s hide as the rest swung their own weapons at it, trying to force it away.  A haunting dirge began to float through the air, seeming to come from a flute.  Blood stains could be seen down the front of Arthur’s robe, and was starting to pool near his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin reached up and cast a spell of guidance on Karl’s axe, which he then swung with all his might.  “She said get off!”  The mighty blow pulled the creature free and it limply buzzed around on the ground before coming still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flute music became faster and louder, and they felt a sense of anger wash over them.  Behind the dead stirge appeared the ghostly image of a skeletal upper torso wearing a tattered brown robe.  A dingy purple scarf had been wrapped around its skull to cover the area where its mouth and nose should be located.  In one hand, it carries a flute, and in the other, it carries a small bird cage, full of transparent stirges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The creatures flew through the bars of the cage and directly at Arthur.  With a hideous cry, his back arched as the ghostly insects flew through him, leaving droplets of blood on the back of his robe.  He planted his katana in the ground as he dropped to one knee.  With a final feat of strength, tried to stand, but fell to the ground, his blade clattering to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ghostly figure had disappeared, but the music continues.  Shanoa watched the event unfold in horror, unable to move or act to stop it.  As he collapsed to the ground, she rushed to his side and knelt down to examine him.  “Oh, gods, this is what killed Michael!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The flute!”  Karl looked frantically at the others.  “Who has the flute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have it!”  Roland began furiously searching his pockets.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where did I put it?  Bomb, herbs, serum, where, ah!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Grasping the once fine instrument tightly in his hand, he pulled it from his coat and held it up, brandishing it like a dagger, but at a loss of how it could help.  “Um, what should I do with it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl gave Roland an uncertain grimace.  “Uh, play it?  Maybe, gods, I don't know. Does anyone know how to play the flute?”  His eyes were wide as he turned his head this way and that, searching for the source of the sound, and keeping watch for the apparition.  “Shanoa, how is Arthur?  Will he live?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren stepped up to Shanoa's side as she inspected the man.  trying to block any danger getting to the woman and their downed companion.  “What good is a flute going to do against such madness as this?” he cried.  Kneeling down beside Arthur, he closed his eyes and prayed, “By the sweet grace of Iomedae, may this man live to escape from this hell hole.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flute music continued, dropping into a slow repetitive song that contained a surprising counterpoint that involved a high-pitched trilling.  Shanoa shook her head.  “He's gone.  Just...stolen from us, right before our eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren shook his head, grimacing, and stood up.  “May his soul rest in peace, then.  I’ll be damned if we leave him here with the rest of these demons, but we've got to deal with this first.” He braced himself for whatever was about to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is foolish!  Madness!  Nothing in your life prepared you for this!  Flee now!</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Every instinct in his body was screaming at Roland to run screaming from Harrowstone Prison.  Except one voice at the back of his mind.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Coward.  That ghost killed the Paladin.  Killed Arthur.  You hold in your hand its bane.  Smite it!</span>
  </em>
  <span>  For an instant, his eyes flashed yellow, and his fear was replaced by rage.  “Pharasma take mercy on you Piper, for you will have none from us!”  Roland put the flute to his lips and as he blew into it, a high-pitched shriek issued forth.  He pressed his mouth to it more intently, forcing more air through the tarnished instrument.  As he continued to play, the sound resolved into a melody, but it is one that was almost painful to hear.  As he played, blood started flowing from his fingers and ears, and his feet began moving around as if dancing to the horrible tune he was playing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More telling, perhaps, was the effect on the Piper.  He materialized once more, his form twisting and shifting until the cloak rose up to resemble a set of stirge’s wings, torn and blackened as if burnt in fire. The bird cage and the flute were nowhere to be seen, and he reached up with his hands and pulled the scarf down to reveal the scarred stump of a proboscis where his mouth should be!  He reached out and flew toward them, anger flashing in his grotesque face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa reacted quickest to the Piper’s change.  She turned and stared at the piper, letting the horror wash over her but steeling her resolve against it.  Grabbing one of her flasks of holy water, she threw it at the piper, striking it squarely in the chest.  A sulphuric smell filled the area as it blackened from the holy liquid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl moved to interpose himself between Roland and the Piper.  “Come on then, you freak,” he sneered, axe held high.  The Piper instead flew directly at Shanoa and slashed at her with his claws, drawing blood and latching onto her to pull her close to his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren charged toward the apparition and slashed out with his sword but fumbled his approach.  “Have at you, devil!” he yelled in the Piper’s face.  “You'll be claiming no more lives, today or ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland’s resolve from a moment before seemed to falter, his eyes turning normal and his face taking on an expression of stark dread.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>What have I done!?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Blood dripping from ears and fingernails, he danced almost comically, the hideous tune from the Piper’s Flute loudly filling the prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassandra steeled her courage and summoned a beam of pure energy from within herself that lashed out at the spirit.  A small report sounded as it impacted against the ghost’s body</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa stood firm as she was embraced by the fiend.  “You will not have me!”  At once, the sign of the rose on her back began to glow brightly as she murmured words of incantation.  Feeling the power flow into her, she grabbed the Piper’s arm and discharged the spell, noting as the monster flinched back from the holy energy forced into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind the Piper, Karl raised his axe high and he swung at the top of the specter's head.  In his haste, he missed and narrowly avoided hitting Shanoa.  The Piper leaned forward, attempting to pierce the bony shard of his proboscis into her face, but she was able to resist his attempts as the two continued to struggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get off of her!” Darren cried, attacking with both his sword and shield.  The blade connected, cutting deep into the Piper.  Roland danced in a wild display of gyration and reckless disregard for his safety.  Blood was thrown about the area as he continued to spin around.  Meanwhile Cassandra marshalled her divine energy and released it in an explosive burst in an attempt to damage the creature.  Oorin muttered a quick prayer to any deity listening, then fired his crossbow bolt at the Piper, managing to hit with a brilliant shot!  Apparently, some divine being was indeed paying attention!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too much, can’t...hold on...</span>
  </em>
  <span> Roland seemed to gag, and the flute let out one last shrill note as his eyes rolled back into his head.  He collapsed into a heap and twitched, the Piper's Flute rolling from his limp hand.  The music stopped, but the Piper's horrible form remained unchanged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa strained against the Piper, trying to break free, but cannot escape his grasp.  Karl took a step to find a better position and attempted to strike the phantom again.  “Get off her!” he roared.  Bringing his weapon across the Piper’s side, he was rewarded with a loud crunch as the handaxe shattered several bones.  The Piper finally released Shanoa, turned to Karl, and slashed him with his clawed hands.  Darren continued his assault, a fearful eye cast back toward Roland as the flute music stopped.  Taking advantage of his focus on Karl, he hit the undead monster solidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Piper nearly doubled over from the sword blow before Darren’s shield knocked him to the ground.  The monster struggled feebly for a few seconds, then became still.  A cool breeze blew in from the collapsed wall and the Piper’s body began disintegrating as if it were made of dust.  Less than a minute passed before the monster had completely disappeared.  The Piper of Illmarsh was no more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flute that fell from Roland's hands was no longer the tarnished instrument it was; it was now bright and gleaming, apparently made from a metal with a silvery sheen.  Roland himself was breathing - the Piper had not claimed a third life that day.  He lay face down on the stone floor, arm outstretched toward the silvery flute, hand open.  The blood had already begun to congeal on his finger nails and in his ears.  Cassandra ran quickly to his bloody and battered body, knelt down, and whispered a prayer of healing.  Roland’s eyes fluttered and he looked up at Cassandra with a dazed expression.  “Pharasma?  Am I dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl rubbed at the cuts on his forearms as he offered Roland a hand getting up.  “You should be so lucky!  Instead, you’re still here, although I never thought the Lady of Graves would be as pretty as Cassandra.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roland accepted Karl’s proffered hand then turned back to Cassandra, blushing furiously.  “Ah, thank you Miss. Cassandra.  Sorry for my momentary, ah, confusion.  I’m in your debt.”  He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and began trying to wipe some of the blood from his face and hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl grinned and turned to the warrior.  “Well struck Darren, we’re lucky to have you with us.  Shanoa, are you all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glow enveloping Shanoa had faded along with the piper, the fierce light of the rose once more dark under her hair.  Something ached in her chest as Karl complimented Cassandra - a pang of...jealousy?  She blushed slightly at the thought when Karl called her name.  “I...I think so.  He didn’t hurt me too badly, but I’m afraid I feel a bit drained after that ordeal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take it easy,” he said with a smile, oblivious to anyone's feelings but his own.  “We have a lot more ground to cover here, and we'll need your strength and courage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had a telling blow, as well, Karl.  Quite impressive.”  Darren sheathed his sword and walked over to the flute that Roland dropped.  “A curious thing.  It must have been cursed before, but now it seems like it's likely quite valuable.”  After looking closely at it, he continued, “This is platinum,” turning it over in the light.  “Must be worth at least a thousand gold pieces.  A lucky find, to be sure.”  He handed the flute back to Roland.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at it blankly for a moment.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Piper is slain.  Can his flute, an instrument of evil, be put to good use now?  Can it be redeemed?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “Ah, yes.  Thank you,” Roland took the flute back and tucked it into his coat.  “It may prove to be worth more than the sum of its materials.  Time will tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A familiar voice broke the relative silence of the prison with dark laughter.  “Shanoooooa, did that mean Piper try to hurt you?  He was crazy, you know.  A murderer!  Killed people for fun!  Not like me, I helped people.  But those priests were jealous of me.  Jealous of my help!  But I want to help you, Shanoa.  I want to help you and your friends.  Come see me, come see your Father.  I will grant absolution for all your sins!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa was at once tense again.  She hissed a single word as the laughter died off, “Charlatan!”  The voice remained quiet and silence filled the upper floor of the prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then,” Darren says, slowly drawing his sword from its sheath.  “I think I’ll just keep this close at hand.  I guess we should oblige this angry spirit.  Find it, fight it, and put it to rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“North or South?”  Karl whispered to the others after gathering up his thrown javelin.  “Although I don't think we have much chance of surprising it.”  He put the throwing spear back into the quiver on his back and selected a new one for his right hand.  His left remained firmly gripped around the Lopper's axe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll say South,” whispered Darren in return.  “And I believe you’re right, the sooner we get face-to-face with this thing, the sooner we can even the odds.  Right now, though, I feel like a rat caught in a maze.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cautiously, the group edged to the southern hall and found several more locked cells.  Each of the cells contained a skeleton, all of which appear to be seated against the far walls of their cells, facing their doors.  As the group looked into the cells, the lower jaw of one skeleton suddenly clattered as it slammed shut. As they watched, the lower jaw slowly opened, then violently closed again.  Across the hall, another skeleton exhibited the same behavior as its jaw started opening and closing.  The noise was starting to become unsettling as even more skeletons joined in the hideous symphony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a low voice, Shanoa commented, “Well that is just downright unnerving,” as she clutched her morningstar more tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren looked around cautiously, keeping a wary eye about him.  “They don't seem to be quite dangerous, just...creepy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl checked the doors to make sure that they were, in fact, locked, and noticed that all of the skeletons turned their heads to watch him as he approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chattering skeletons caused Roland to once again go pale.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, ye Gods what now?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  “If we're lucky, creepy is the worst we'll encounter from now on.”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>I somehow doubt it, though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughter pierced through the chattering bones.  “Do you like my toys, Shanoa?  They sure seem to like you and your friends!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chill ran down Shanoa's spine as the voice echoed again through the passageways.  “I'm starting to really hate that man.  The voice sounds like it came from that way,” indicating towards the west.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl tried the door to the abandoned guard post, which opens easily.  “I don’t like this,” he murmured softly to Shanoa.  “It feels like this wretch is trying to lead us around by the nose.”  The group entered the small guardroom, and Karl noticed several braces on the inside of the door, providing additional support to the hinges and lock.  Three chairs surrounded a wooden table, and a small weapon rack rested on the south wall.  It appeared the bars separating the room from the rest of this floor were reinforced, providing extra protection for anyone inside this area.  Across the room was a small balcony that overlooked the entrance to the prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a place such as this, any choice we make can come to ill.  We don’t know what they are planning while our every move is likely being watched.  It's difficult not to second guess any decision we make.”  Oorin looked around somewhat nervously, then held up the cursed spellbook.  “Perhaps if we can cleanse the other objects as we did the flute, that will be enough to disrupt their plans.”  Thinking back on Roland’s experience with the flute, “It fills me with a bit of unease though and what I might undergo when we try to cleanse this spellbook.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren paused a moment at the balcony, looking longingly out at the outdoors.  “At least we can get a breath of fresh air here,” he muttered, then turned back to the group.  “Well then, what other evil items have you collected thus far?” he asked, eyeing the spellbook.  “And must we fight off their original owners in every case?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa shrugged as she presented the tangled mess of holy symbols.  “I’m quite certain these belong to the voice you heard, Father Charlatan.  No idea what to do with it though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl sucked in his left cheek as he thought, “Well, Roland played the flute once the Piper was in our midst.  Maybe when we find this Charlatan, you use the holy symbols for a god?  I don’t even know how you would do that.”  Karl wandered over to the weapon rack and inspected it.  Darren, the flute belonged to the Piper.  Oorin has the Spellbook.  Shanoa has Charlatan's tangle of holy symbols.  I have the Lopper’s axe.  And there is this hammer.  It belonged to the Mosswater Marauder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All five items were closely linked to each of the five criminals in life,” Roland nodded, mostly to himself.  “Perhaps there's a paper in this.  Ectoplasmic Synergy between Momento Mori and the Manifestation of Incorporeal Undead has a nice ring to it.”  He pulled out a notebook and jotted down a few things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Darren said, nodding but clearly not understanding a word of the title Roland just said.  “Anything on that weapon rack, Karl?” he asked, trying to change the subject before more input might be expected.  “We’ll just have to track down these angry spirits, one by one, and be done with them all.  We owe that to Vesorianna, or if not her, at least to Arthur.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa nodded.  “Arthur wasn't even the first of our friends to be killed by these monsters, either.  There is much to be avenged.”  She adjusted her dress, clutched her morningstar tightly, and turned back inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin looked serious.  “At least Michael's death has been avenged.  It was the Piper and his stirges that killed him, in his sleep no less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Oorin, although if the Piper's death could bring Michael and Arthur back to us, I would kill him a thousand times over.”  Karl finished examining the rack and shook his head.  “It appears that anything of value had been taken many years ago.”  As he was turning away, Karl noticed that one of the stones in the wall appeared to be a slightly different color than the ones surrounding it.  Investigating further, he discovered the stone was actually a wooden panel, cleverly carved to resemble stone.  It opened to reveal a hidden cache of items.  From the dust and grime covering them, these treasures had obviously rested in their location since the disaster fifty years ago.  There was a pouch of coins, two healer’s kits, and a collection of different colored vials and potions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl passed the potions and gear around.  He also took his enchanted sword off his belt and handed it to Darren, hilt first.  “The way you fight with that sword and shield, might be you could get better use of this than me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren accepted the sword, “It’s not what I'm used to - not the chosen weapon of her Ladyship the Inheritor, that is - but it is clearly a magnificent blade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl sighed.  “I do not like leaving Arthur's body there, but I suppose we must until we deal with this damned Charlatan.  But still…”  He trailed off, then ventured back to lay Arthur in a more dignified repose, the corpse’s steel-clad hands gripped around the blade of his strangely curved sword.  He spied the haunt siphon hanging from Arthur’s belt and took it in hand as he whispered, “I hope you won’t think ill of me, but we will probably need this more than you.  Rest easy friend, I’ll make sure you're buried properly.”  With that done, Karl returned to the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren gave Karl a tight smile at his return.  “Yes, we’ll return Arthur to the light of day once we've vanquished this place of its evil.  Nobody should be left here to rot, whether dead or alive.”  He stepped back out of the guard room and looked down another row, “I wonder if the Charlatan's creepy theatrics are on display in these cells, as well,” he said rigidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl stepped up to where Darron was looking and listed at the nearest door.  Holding his hand up, he backed away.  Gathering the others around him, he whispered, “There is a tapping sound in there, like something hitting a table.  Maybe we should check out the rest of the floor before we open the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren nodded and the group moved into the hallway, where the dead once again began clacking their jaws and turning their heads to follow as they passed by.  Roland jumped, “Ah!  Stop that you infernal things!”  He blushed fiercely at the glances from his fellow adventurers.  “Insufferable skeletons.  My nerves are already on edge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching the end of the hallway, they noticed that two of the rooms appeared to be different than the other cells.  One was blocked by a heavily reinforced door that appeared to be stuck in the doorframe, but a glimpse of sunlight shone through a small crack at the bottom of the door.  The other contained an iron ladder leading up to a trap door in the ceiling.  “Looks like we could try to force that door, or that access to the ceiling.  Which should it be?”  Karl asked in a low voice.  “I’d prefer the door, if that’s all right with the rest of you.  I’ve had bad luck with roofs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do be careful with that door,” Roland pointed to the sliver of sunlight.  “I'm hardly an expert on, ah, construction, but knowing the state of the building, that door may lead to a very sudden drop outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Door first, then I suppose.  Here goes,” he said, giving it a mighty shove.  Karl gave the door a powerful kick while Darren put his shoulder into it.  The force was powerful enough to shatter the frame with a loud crack.  The doorway opened to a wide balcony.  A large, rectangular block of stone rested on the far end, while ruined wooden benches lined the wall under a row of tiny, barred windows above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin stepped out to the balcony to gaze at the grounds and guard towers, and Shanoa followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin watched her go, then his eyes fell on the stone block, where he noticed a rusty scythe propped up against the wall nearby.  “Looks like they performed executions here.  I wonder if they really used a scythe to decapitate people.  I keep reminding myself that this place was used to house the worst of the worst.  I can't imagine what it must have been like to be Warden here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To think that this place once bravely housed the most fearsome criminals we can imagine, it's a bit too much for my mind to handle.” Darren said, looking at Oorin and then glancing about them.  “An executioners’ platform must be a tainted place indeed,” he said as he gazes around the crumbling balcony.  “To think I almost lost my life in this forsaken place,” he said, trailing off and letting the statement stand for itself, as if he were hoping that something from the outside would answer with a hopeful response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This scythe has been enchanted,” Oorin muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably cursed with the souls of the wretched it's taken from this life,” scowled Darren.  “I suppose we should bring it along, though.”  He picked it up</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to the door with the tapping, then the roof?”  Karl asked quietly as he tried to look in every direction at once, his nervousness palpable in the cool air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa looked mournfully at the tall half-elf.  Though the atmosphere was still dreary and oppressive, she breathed deeply in the comparatively fresh air.  “I...I don't want to go back in there. I want more than anything to just leave this place and go back home.  I wish it from the depths of my soul.”  She turned, and her eyes glistened with moisture.  “But we will not abandon this town to the fates of Michael and Arthur.  We will avenge their deaths and prevent the spread of evil.  Most of the people here may never know the danger they were in, what we’ve gone through, and what we’ve faced to keep them safe. But we will prevail, and the light will shine brightly once again in this dark place.”  Her morningstar flared brightly once again as she invoked the spell once more, casting dancing shadows as Shanoa’s dress and dark hair fluttered in the wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Darkness will fall." She stepped confidently and resolutely back inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl hefted one of his sharpened javelins and nodded toward the door.  “Care to do the honors Darren?  Just open it, and if there’s something unfriendly, we'll see how it likes pointy sticks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With pleasure,” Darren said, giving the rest a nod and then pulling on the handle.  It swung open to reveal a large cell, but still obviously a room built to contain a prisoner.  A double bed lay against one wall, with a small nightstand sitting beside.  A wood table with a matching chair rested against the far wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A skeleton lay in the bed, its arm outstretched and its index finger touching the nightstand.  The finger rose into the air then fell down, creating a tapping sound on the wood.  The skull adjusted slightly so its eyes were pointed in her direction, as if it was looking at Shanoa.  In a grotesque parody of the skeletons in the cells outside this room, the jaw of this skeleton opened, then shut quickly, mimicking its siblings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screeching of twisting metal echoed loudly, then from all around the familiar sound of snapping skeletal jaws could be heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A familiar voice called out, “You finally made it!  More children come to see Father.  All your new brothers and sisters want to meet you!  They want to hug you, and kiss you, and bite, bite, bite you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A figure resembling an emaciated man with stringy hair clinging to its face leaped into the far end of the hallway behind them.  Gnarled and twisted teeth protruded from its mouth, and a thick purple tongue lolled to the side.  It crouched with its clawed hands resting on its knees.  Grinning widely, it licked its teeth with a disgusting slurping sound, “Shanoa, come see your Father!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don't you try me on for size, Father of lies!”  Karl turned toward Father Charlatan and hurled a javelin, impaling it through the skull.  Shrieking and cursing, he recoils from the strike and began screaming obscenities, promising eternal pain and torture to everyone who opposes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the flurry of activity, Shanoa noticed a small green book on the floor between the nightstand and the bed.  Pointing it out, she called out, “Oorin!  Grab that book.”  Reaching down, she produced the handful of tangled holy symbols, wondering if there was some way they could be used against this foe.  Holding them out in front of her, she proclaimed, “You, fiend, are not my father!”  He immediately ceased his screaming and glared at her with unbridled hatred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oorin was about to unload his crossbow at the enemy, but at Shanoa’s request hurried over and grabbed the book before the skeleton could rise from the bed.  As his hands touched the book, he gasped, then fell over.  The skeleton pushed itself off the bed and stood over Oorin.  More skeletons came around the corners from their cells, now opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren charged down the corridor and unleashed a powerful downward slash with his longsword.  “You’ll regret we came here soon enough!”  Father Charlatan in turn tore into Darren, ripping into the man with both claws and biting deep into his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Oorin in peril, Karl snarled as he pointed at the grotesque, false priest,  “I’ll see to you in a minute!  Cassandra, help me with these skeletons!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> With that he charged into the recently opened room and hacked at the newly risen skeleton, determined to protect his friend from harm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shanoa glanced over at Oorin, a look of worry on her face.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is he ok?  What have I done? </span>
  </em>
  <span> Turning back towards the evil priest, she advanced and swung the tangle of symbols at him.  Though they only grazed his skin, a bright red welt appeared at the point of impact, drawing a surprised scream from the creature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still weary and on edge after the near-fatal encounter with the Piper, Roland was momentarily stunned into total inaction upon seeing the hideous specter of Father Charlatan.  But only for a moment.  The flurry of quick activity seemed to return him to his senses and with a shout, he swung his sturdy cane at the skeleton threatening Oorin.  “Stay away from him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darren took a step back down the hallway and drank one of his healing potions as the horde of skeletons advanced closer.  Cassandra looked around before bowing her head and unleashing another powerful burst of energy.  The incoming skeletons were rocked back but not destroyed.  They continued their advance, surrounding her, and one punched her in the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're going to pay for what you've done!” Shanoa swung the tangle of symbols once more at the false priest with all her might.  Where they hit, a large blister appeared on Father Charlatan’s upper thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He roared back at her and swiped with both claws, leaving deep gauges along her arm.  As he moved in to try and bite her, he suddenly staggered back as a large wound opened on his chest.  He touched it, his face a mask of confusion, then looked down the hall toward the open door of the cell where Oorin lay.  “Nooo!”</span>
</p>
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